Backlash Seed of Darkness
by Djuva
Summary: Ten years have passed since the battle of Naboo, and the Jedi Order is fading away. With its steady decline Alamys Jorka's hopes for the future grow more desperate. Epilogue!
1. The Trouble Begins

****

Backlash – Seed of Darkness

Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas

****

Evening was falling over Mos Espa, cooling the city bit by bit, but the heat was still intense enough that it might explode the temper of one customer or other that had settled in Myer's Den, one of the many little bars dotting the blocks around the space port. The atmosphere was charged inside the semi-darkness that permeated the bar's single low room, and smoke hung thick underneath the ceiling, leaving only one choice to clear one's lungs: a drink. The seats along the bar were packed with diverse specimen of different races and sexes, and yet they all had a certain look about them, of scruffiness and suspicion. 

One of them was a tall human, sporting a beard and a wild hairstyle. Dark brown eyes scanned every newcomer who entered the bar, and one hand was cupped around a glass of Corellian whiskey, while the other casually stroked the butt-end of the blaster hanging from his belt. The man seemed nervous, but then, that could have been an illusion, meant to appease those who might be watching him. One who was watching was a younger man, also human, whose dark blonde hair was cut short, and whose blue eyes seemed to gather everything that was going on, above and underneath the surface. He had chosen to sit in one of the small booths along the wall, alone. Nursing a glass of local ale, he seemed content to study the growing crowd of patrons just as intensely as the tall man at the bar. And yet, where the man at the bar was bait, this one was waiting for a kill. Figuratively speaking.

When a Twi'lek bustled up to the bar, pushing his way between the bar stools, the tall man, a Corellian, by the look of him, lay a hand on the alien's shoulder. The Twi'lek's lekku twitched in anger when he turned his head to look at the intruder, but then the man said something, and the Twi'lek sneered at him contemptuously. Leaning closer, the human whispered more words at the Twi'lek, whose eyes widened gradually. Suddenly the alien nodded quite fervently and followed without protest, when the Corellian rose and propelled him toward the bar's back entrance. Taking his time, the younger man follwed. By the time he had made his way through the crowd and had reached the back-alley behind the bar, the Corellian was already ranting at the Twi'lek, threatening the alien heavily. The young man propped his hands on his hips challengingly.

"Now, now," he said pelasantly, "what is the meaning of this?"

"None of your business," the Corellian growled, and glared at the younger man out of the corner of his eye, while still holding the Twi'lek's collar in a death-grip.

"I do believe it is my business now," Kane Jinn answered and flipped back his cloak to reveal the lightsaber dangling from his belt. The Corellian barked a mirthless laugh and stood back, but for some reason the Twi'lek's small eyes shifted very nervously toward the Jedi. "Sir," Kane addressed the alien, "was this man assaulting you?" He took a step toward the two men cautiously, and the Twi'lek edged away, prepared to make a dash for freedom. But apparently he seemed to deem it necessary to appease his rescuer.

"It is quite all right, Jedi, sir. Thank you for your assistance," the alien mumbled.

"I wonder," Kane began anew, his voice low, "what this dispute was about. You see, I know this ruffian, and he would never attack anyone without sound reason."

"Sir! I assure you, I've done nothing wrong!" the Twi'lek protested as the Jedi Knight stepped in front of him. The Corellian had sidled around to block the alien's only way of escape. 

Kane smiled. The alien's presence was a vibrant cocktail of fear, suppressed anger and aggression, with a hint of embarrassment. There was danger here, but only very little, he knew. Nothing he could not handle. "Perhaps it has something to do with Zullawa's mysterious deliveries he has you set up each time? Could it be that this gentleman," here he indicated the Corellian, "was dissatisfied with the quality of your boss' spice deliveries? Zullawa is very fond of experimenting with spice, I hear. Not concerned about random casualties either, so they say."

The Twi'lek stared at him, shoulders hunched. "I know nothing about that," he said, but the lie was plain on his mind. 

"Ah." Kane gave a cautious nod. "Perhaps I was mistaken." He smiled again, reassuringly this time. "Let me not keep you, then." 

Undoubtedly the Twi'lek would go straight to Zullawa's representative here on Tatooine to report, and then he would have that scum-bag. Finally. Kane had been tracking the smuggler boss across half the galaxy over the past months and now, here on Tatooine, they had finally found one of his bases. The Twi'lek worked with him, that much was clear, and with any luck, he would also point them toward Zullawa's den. Though Kane was pretty certain that the smuggler did not operate from Tatooine, perhaps he could get a fresh trail here. 

"You're letting me go?" the Twi'lek asked, somewhat disbelieving.

"Should I keep you?" Kane asked right back, eyebrow cocked mockingly. Flustered, the alien simply turned and ran, side-stepping the Corellian on his way to freedom. 

"What a miserable little speck of dirt," the Corellian spat. "Wanna follow him?"

Kane shook his head. "Not yet. We'll give him a lead, wait until he feels safe. I will know the time."

"Sure," the Corellian snorted. "You always do." Flexing muscled arms he yawned heartily. "What a miserable planet. The sooner we get on Zullawa's trail, the better."

"Trent Bryar, you must be the only Corellian I know who dislikes a cozy place like Myer's Den," Kane commented amiably. 

"And you must be the only Jedi who's willing to get his hands dirty meddling with Zullawa. He's been poisoning people for years." Trent spat again. "Bad for business."

Kann Jinn gave a soft chuckle. "Of course. All you think of is your business."

The Corellian shrugged easily. "Hey, you can't let people go round ruining the trade. I have a reputation to keep."

"In your place, I'd be happy to lose it. Come on, let's go for a stroll. And, Trent, I'm the only Jedi you know. There are others who care."

"Sure. If you say so. Now we're talking _your_ reputation, right?"

"Right."

Shaking his head, Kane smiled as he led the way into the dark maze of Mos Eisley's back streets. Trent was right. Zullawa had been allowed to go about his business unmolested for far too long. But the law seemed powerless in blunting the man's operations, and the Jedi did not seem to see fighting petty crimes as inside their jurisdiction. Yet some did care, as he had told his partner. Jedi like Master Kattewa, who had sadly passed away a year ago, or Kane's own mentor, Hagen Dycos. But Hagen had retired from active work, or front line duty, as he had jokingly called it, eight months ago, to focus once more on his historical studies. He was getting old. Strange, though, to think of that vigorous Jedi Master as old; he was in his mid-fifties, not old at all, but somehow he had lost much of his vigor over the past two years, had delegated more and more tasks to his first and last apprentice. 

And Kane had taken to crime investigation like a narketa fish to the ocean. Petty crime could have very far-reaching consequences, just like Zullawa's experiments that had left thousands of spice users dead of disabled. And Kane had been taught time and again to think beyond the seemingly small and petty and consider the wider effects it might have. Yet, despite his experience, that he had gained as Hagen Dycos' apprentice, he had known that his insight would not suffice to take upon criminals such as Zullawa. Which was why he had teamed up with Trent Bryar. The Corellian was an ex-smuggler, a mercenary and part-time investigator. He had a strong sense of justice and saw himself as everybody's bigger brother. A caring man, and yet, he would never admit to having a good heart or a conscience at all. 

Running side by side, the soft soles of their boots making hardly any sound, they glided through the night – ghostlike – toward where Kane could sense his quarry. The Twi'lek was terrified and desperate, and the Jedi Knight quickened his pace, anxious all of a sudden. 

"Damn," Trent spat behind him, breathing hard, "Can't ya run a little faster?"

Chastised, Kane slowed down a bit to allow his companion to catch up with him. "Up there," he informed the Corellian, nodding ahead. "He's not alone." Detaching from the shadows of a house wall, he stalked toward the edge of the alley, when a sudden flash of emotion caught his attention. He whirled around, eyes wide, calling his lightsaber to his hand. "Watch out!" he yelled, igniting the blade just as a deadly laser beam lanced down from the house's flat roof. 

Kane sommersaulted over Trent's head, his blade deflecting the bolt at the last second, but then more laser bolts roared at them in a deadly cross-fire. A trap! Kane did his best to counter the deadly fire, assuming the detached state of mental purity that he had been taught, pushing his terror aside. He had to be focused now. The Twi'lek probably had called reinforcements, more professional than he was, obviously, or else Kane would have felt their anxiety earlier. Their murderous intentions now filled the edge of his awareness, like hungry beasts frantically trying to get at their prey. He did not let them come close, always holding them apart. It was a lesson he had learned years ago. To be detached from the present, yet deeply immersed in its proceedings. Suddenly the blaster fire died, and he could pick up the sounds of running feet and muffled curses. They had given up.

"Trent?" he whispered into the suddenly pitch.black alley, that had been awash with garish laser light only a moment earlier. There was a soft groan. "Trent?" The sense of pain rushing into his awareness was almost overwhelming. His skin turned icy cold as he rushed over to where his friend had fallen. 

"Guess they – got me – this time," the Corellian pressed out.

Running a hand over his partner's body Kane felt incredibly helpless. It was obvious that he was hurt, and the rudimentary assessment of the damage told him that he would not make it either. Slumping back, sunken in on his haunches, the Jedi Knight felt like crying. 

"I am sorry, friend," he whispered, remembering a moment a long time ago, when he had first felt that helpless in the face of death. 

Trent managed a small smile. "Don't be – just make sure – you get – that scumbag."

Kane could sense the Corellian's life slipping away and closed the dead man's eyes tenderly. "Sure thing," he told him grimly. "I'll get him, don't you worry."

"Hagen!"

Looking up, Jedi Master Hagen Dycos blinked at the young man who had thrown open the door to his apartment and was striding across the floor toward where he sat at the desk by the window, seemingly excited. For a moment Hagen had trouble putting a name to the face, but then he smiled, pleased. "Kane, you're back. Did you succeed in your mission?" Kane stopped before him, his face pale. Only then did Hagen become aware of the sorrow the other exuded. "What happened?" he asked, suddenly alarmed, and rose from his chair. A flash of pain stabbed through his right thigh, making him wince ever so slightly.

"Master, are you all right?"

"Yes, yes," Hagen cautioned the younger man. "Tell me what happened." He noticed the suspicious look Kane gave him, and secretly he was moved by the other's caring, but this was something he had to deal with alone. 

Kane shook his head briefly, as if to gather his thoughts, then set his mouth grimly. "Trent was killed on Tatooine."

"I thought so," Hagen offered wearily. "I am sorry for your friend, Kane. What about Zullawa?"

"I conducted some more investigations, but I did not find much. They must have moved out once they realized I was after them." 

Kane Jinn was trying hard to hide his private pain behind a facade of professionalism, but Hagen knew him well enough to sense that the young Jedi was far from calm. He needed to distance himself from events on Tatooine, before he could go on. Nodding to himself thoughtfully, Hagen took a seat again.

"Trent's wife lives on Corellia, is that not so?" he suggested quietly. Kane flinched.

"Yes, she does. They're divorced, though."

"You should still inform her."

"You mean – in person?" Kane's face was a study of disbelief. "What about Zullawa?"

"Hm-hm, I am thinking about that," Hagen sighed. "There is someone who might help you. Perhaps you can get at," he frowned slighty, scouring his memory for the name, "Zullawa ... by using his associates or competitors as pointers."

  
"How?"

"A Corellian Jedi by the name of – " Again a frown. This was getting ridiculous. "Ah, yes. Zulkur Arden, he is called. He has been conducting investigations about the smugglers in that area. Perhaps he can help you."

"I see," Kane answered slowly, never taking his eyes off Hagen. "Are you certain you are okay? You seem distracted."

"Oh, it is nothing," the Jedi Master replied lightly, "I suppose I just did not sleep very well."  


"You could always use the Force to refresh yourself," Kane reminded him. 

Hagen smiled. "No need to tell me, my friend. But, please, let me deal with this my way." The moment the words were out of his mouth he knew he had made a mistake.

"Deal with what, exactly?" Kane asked at once, face impassive, voice cool. When Hagen did not answer at once he continued conspiratively. "I had suspected that you might be ill, Master. But I was not sure. Is that it? You are ill?"

  
"A virus, nothing more," Hagen tried. Unsuccessfully.

"A virus would be easy to cure, you could even cure yourself. But you don't want to use the Force, am I right? Why?"

Hagen fixed his young friend in an icy glare. "Hagen, if I need your help I will let you know. For now, you should bring your investigations to an end. Then we may talk." He rubbed a hand over his forehead, cursing his headaches. They seemed to be eating his memories bit by bit. 

"Master," Kane began anew, as he stepped closer. "You should not let me go now."

"You are free to leave, Kane. I insist. Please," Hagen added more gently, when he saw the look in the younger man's eyes, full of hurt and betrayal. "Please go," he added in a whisper, and averted his eyes. 

After a moment of silence the sound of retreating footsteps told him that Kane was heeding his words. Good. He did not want the boy to see him like this, ill and unable to control himself. Once the door had closed again, leaving him alone in his apartment again, Hagen rose unsteadily and dislodged the walking stick he had hidden underneath the table. Laboriously he made his way across the floor, toward his small library, two shelves filled with holocubes and books. He would find a cure. Somehow. 

Inyo Di'vitt was brushing her long gray hair with energetic, methodical strokes, frowning at her image in the mirror before her critically. She was still beautiful, despite her years, with startling violet eyes and the pale skin to go with them. Still beautiful, but old. Every day she felt a little weaker, her mind a little slower. And her mind had been very quick once, had been her sole ally in surviving, after the desaster that had ended her world at Ruusan. A pretty girl alone was never safe, never, she had had to learn that very early, even before her parents had been killed in the last battle between Jedi and Sith, killed like beasts, their lives worth nothing. The brush tore through thick gray hair a little harder, and Inyo snarled at the mirror. 

She would have her revenge for that, she would repay those Jedi who thought themselves above the law. She would ... A smile replaced the frown and snarl. And it would be sweet revenge too. Already she had begun experimenting with her latest design, a beautiful little virus that did beautiful little things to the victim. She giggled girlishly to herself. So far she had been able to acquire two specimen to test the virus. Both were out of her reach though, and that rankled. She had to get them back somehow. Somehow. Again a frown. But how?

Placing the brush on the table in front of her she sat there, her thoughts working the problem over again and again. Nothing came to mind. With a sigh she got up from the chair and turned around to survey her little kingdom. It was not much, a three-room-apartment in a sixty-storey house, but it was enough for her. When she had moved in what had to be about six years ago, she had redecorated everything. Apart from her experiments that was her sole passion. Decorating things, rooms, people. A pleased moan escaped from between her lips as her gaze fell on the flowers she had arranged just this morning on the large table by the window. They were perfect, and beautiful.

With a jerk she started toward the table, but passed it to open the door to the balcony. It was a large balcony, and when she stepped outside the warm air enfolded her in a cloud of the sweet scent of even more flowers. Nigh lilies, that bloomed in the moonlight, midnight orchids and even Scaala flowers, a rare specimen from distant Ruusan. She kept that one in memory of her parents, and the black blossoms with blood-red lining felt just and right for that purpose. The scent of the Scaala blossoms was heavy and sweet, reminiscent of the aroma of death. Death. She scowled fiercely at the flowers, then turned around and stormed back into her living-room. Damn! She needed to get her hands on those two soon, or she would never be able to determine the speed with which the virus took effect. 

There was a knock at the door. 

"Come," she called out. She never locked her door here, the entire building was safe, she knew. 

As expected it was Mangus Zullawa, a stocky man of indeterminable age. He bowed toward her graciously, then straightened again with a smile. "My dear Doctor Di'vitt," he purred. "a pleasure to see you well. Are you ready?"

Inyo smiled, her violet eyes burning. "Almost, my dear Mangus," she replied, her voice sweet as honey. "I still need to select a dress for tonight."

Mangus face lit up. "May I be of assistance?" he offered eagerly. 

Inyo gave a gay little laugh. "Dearest, of course you may. You know how much I appreciate your input and insight." She glided toward the bedroom, where her walk-in closet would provide this evening's dress, and her swaying hips brushed Mangus' body seemingly accidentially. He almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to join her. Inyo pursed her lips thoughtfully. Perhaps they would be just a little late for dinner. But Mangus' next words cooled her mood instantly.

"We have found him," he breathed heavily and almost bumped into her when she stopped all of a sudden. 

Rounding on him – and he was shorter than she – she lay a hand imploringly on his chest. "Is that true? Oh Mangus, my dearest Mangus! When will he be joining us?"

"Soon," he mumbled, apparently encouraged by her touch, and slipped his hands around her ample hips. "Oh, my dear Inyo –" 

He did not get further. Brutally pushing him out of her way, Inyo redirected her course and plowed straight for the third room that made up her apartment. Not her real laboratory, but a work-shop to develop the ideas further that came to her now and then in her free time. Here she could notch them down and start experimenting. And it was here that she kept the original of the beautiful virus she had engineered some four years ago. The vessel carrying the virus was blood, and the cask where she kept the virus was filled top to bottom with it. Not her own, of course. She smiled at the cask, a motherly smile, almost. 

"Hello, my precious," she cooed, caressing the cool surface of the container. Leaning closer, she pressed a soft kiss on the cold glass. "Daddy is coming home." Her gentle features hardened. "And he will return to us what is ours."

Kane Jinn experienced his arrival at Corellia in a dream-like state. He was still confused about what had happened on Tatooine, about Hagen's cryptical words, and he was very worried for his master. Why had he not seen the signs earlier? Hagen seemed to wither away gradually, his skin had seemed dry and sported more wrinkles than Kane remembered. His hair – his thick, white-blonde hair – seemed to be getting thinner too. And Kane had noticed the walking cane Hagen had wisely hidden underneath the table. Why would he not trust his friend to keep a secret? Kane would not have told anyone else, had Hagen requested it, but he wanted to help him, damn that stubborn man!

Shaking himself a bit, Kane gave the customs agent a weary smile. "Excuse me, I was not listening..."

The Drall regarded him curiously. "Jedi Kight Kane Jinn, yes?"

"Yes, that is me."

  
"Very good, sir, your may pass. An honor to have you here, sir." The Drall handed his ID card over to him and Kane tucked it back into an inner pocket of his tunic.

"Thank you," he replied, a bit taken aback. So, it was good that he was here, was it. He wondered why. Very hard.

Frowning, he made his way deeper into the space-port, repeating his plan to himself. First he had to pay a visit to Trent's ex-wife, Yanessa, and tell her about her ex-husband's death. He grimaced wrily. Not a job he liked to do. Then he would try to find Zulkur Arden, and he already had an idea how to find him. CorSec would probably keep tabs on anyone 'special' here on Corellia, including any Jedi Knight who might be able to join an investigation, if needed. 

Outside the port Kane hailed a cab and gave the droid the address he had found listed as Yanessa Bryar's last known residence. He fervently hoped that she still lived there. The cab shot through the streets of Coronet, the planet's capital, and entered a freeway that led into the suburbs. The dwellings out here seemed friendly and peaceful, and Kane relaxed a bit. His friend's death still was foremost on his mind, where it had been joined only recently by the worry over his master's illness. Yet somehow the Jedi Knight managed to push his dark feelings aside, and concentrate instead on the flow of the Force, letting it soothe his anxiety. What would he tell Yanessa? How to begin? _Misses Bryar, you do not know me, probably, but I am a friend of your ex-husband, Trent. Your late ex-husband._ No. That would not do at all. _Misses Bryar, my name is Kane Jinn, and I am a friend of Trent's. I have something to tell you_. Hm. This was all so formal. 

"We're here, sir," the droid announced, and Kane looked up and out of the window pane to see that they indeed had stopped in front of a nice little house, nestled in a community of almost identical looking buildings. There was a neat little garden in front of the house. Kane swallowed hard.

"Thank you," he told the driver and paid the fare, before he got out of the cab. A moment later he stood alone on the sidewalk, feeling like a ten-year-old again. Calming himself, he walked over to the gate and rang the bell. 

After a few moments a female voice asked: "Yes?"

"Misses Yanessa Bryar?" he asked right back. 

"Yes? What can I do for you?"

Relieved, Kane felt a little bit better, but only for a moment, before he became aware again of why he was here. "Misses Bryar, my name is Kane Jinn. I am a friend of Trent's –"

"Trent!" came a startled yelp from the gate's comm unit. "Come in!"

The gate swung open and Kane entered swiftly, now committed to his task. His features were grim, when the front door was drawn open, but he was stopped short when a woman practically leapt out of the doorway and hugged him. 

"Kane Jinn! I have heard a lot about you!" Yanessa announced, a bit out of breath, then released him again, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Mostly good. I suppose Trent kept the bad things back. Come! This is a surprise!"

She had seized his right arm and dragged him after her into the small living room, which was decorated with a lot of what Kane would call plunder, but it was comfortable and cozy. Yanessa sat him down on the sofa. 

"Anything I can offer you? Water?"

"Yes, please," Kane replied, a bit taken aback. Her bustling activity and liveliness was a bit frightening, considering what he had to tell her. Now he was even more reluctant to break the news.

"So," she began, once she had rejoined him with a tray on which were balanced a jug of water and two glasses. Yanessa set it down on the table and took a seat opposite from Kane. "What brings you here? And why has my dear ex-husband not deemed it proper to pay a visit himself? I haven't seen him in years!"

"You've held contact ever since your divorce?"

"Of course!" she exclaimed, her face beaming. She was, Kane found, really attractive. Not pretty, but she had something. Her blue eyes seemed to be contsantly sparkling, and her mobile features spoke of good humor and a quick mind. "Just because we broke up does not mean we did not feel something for one another."

  
"Like friendship?" Kane asked, his voice hoarse. 

Suddenly Yanessa's mood changed, apparently picking up on his own. "What is it? It is Trent, isn't it? You are his partner, he told me, a Jedi Knight. I – " She stopped, and her face turned very pale. She clapped a hand over her mouth. "No!" came a muffled cry. She rose quickly from her seat and came around the table to kneel before him. "What has happened?" she asked pleadingly. 

"Yanessa," Kane began in a whisper, feeling his own voice choked with grief, "since you know so much, you must know that what we did was sometimes very dangerous."

"Yes, yes, of course. Everything Trent did was dangerous. Tell me," she demanded fiercely, her hands squeezing his almost painfully. 

"I tried to protect him," the Jedi Knight continued, dropping his gaze. "I deflected the first few shots, but there were too many. I am sorry," he breathed, unable to look at her. "I should have tried harder."

For a moment there was silence, then Yanessa drew her hands away and rose quietly. Kane could sense the avalanche of emotions that crashed down on her, that she tried to hold back at first, but was powerless against. With a sob she ran from the room. He could hear her pounding up some stairs, and a door crashed on the upper floor. And then he could hear her crying. Loud, ragged sobs and moans, sometimes small, anguished screams that pierced his heart. Self-consciously he wiped a hand over his own eyes. It came away wet with tears. 

"Well done, Kane Jinn, very well done," he scolded himself. 

But immediately he realized that there was no way he could have prevented those tears, her sorrow. All he could do now was to determine whether she would need someone. With a heavy heart he rose and walked out of the living-room, toward the staircase at the back of the house. Slowly, he made his way up and found the door to what he thought was the bed-room. He hesitated, then went in. Yanessa lay sprawled on the bed, hugging the pillows tightly to her face and chest. Her body was heaving with heart-wrenching sobs as she caught her breath over and over again, only to continue crying. Kane stood in the doorway, undecided. 

"Should I – should I call someone?" he asked sheepishly. 

A moment passed before Yanessa fell silent. She sat up, not turning to face him. "Pass me the kerchiefs, will you?" She waved vaguely at a shelf, and Kane hurried over to hand her a box of kleenex. She blew her nose noisily, then shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. Twisting around on the bed she looked at him, her eyes red and puffed-up, her face swollen. "Did he say something?" she asked at last, hopefully, Kane thought.

He pressed his lips together for a moment, then nodded. "He asked me to get the man who is responsible for all this."

"Good," Yanessa declared, heart-felt, " 'cause I want him too. What's his name?"

"Mangus Zullawa," Kane sighed, and sat down on the bed beside her. "But I cannot let you run off to avenge your husband."

  
"_Ex_-husband," she corrected him icily, then gave a quick, guilty smile. "How long have you known him? Three years?" Kane nodded. "We were married for six long, beautiful years. I loved him."

  
"Why did you break up?" 

She hesitated, then tried to find a more comfortable position on the bed. "Trent is – was – a nice man. " She grimaced in disdain. "Caring and generous. But at some point I got the feeling that everyone was more important than I was. All he expected of me was to keep his back clear and support him. I grew bored and restless." She blushed. "I started an affair with another man, a collegue of mine. Trent found out." Her face fell. "He was furious, accused me of having betrayed him. I told him he had betrayed me first. Well," she shrugged, sniffling a bit. "I suppose, in the end it was best for both of us." She smiled. "His last words, I suppose, prove my point."

Kane nodded. "I suppose so too."

  
"You were his friend," she said suddenly, her blue eyes earnest. "You cannot tell me you don't want revenge."

"Revenge is of the Dark Side," Kane answered automatically. 

Yanessa drew her knees up to her chin. "I think I need some time alone. I am tired." She sought his gaze again. "Thank you, Kane Jinn. Could you – " she blew her nose again. "Could you leave your number, or something, where I can reach you?"

"Sure," he answered with a nod, his voice very small. "You won't do anything foolish, will you?" he added lightly. 

She laughed a bit, then shook her head. Strands of dark brown hair fell across her face, making her look like a girl. "Right now, no. Later – who knows?"

"When you've decided, call me," he tried. "Are you certain I should leave?"

"Yes." She gave a brave little nod. "I'll call some friends – you understand," she added hurriedly, apparently fearing she had offended him.

"No, of course. I understand. I'll be there, if you need me," he offered at last, then wrapped his arms around her to squeeze her gently. "And I'll keep you posted on what I can find out about Zullawa. Just in case."

"Thank you," she answered in a hushed whisper. "I appreciate it."

  
He nodded, then let her go and stood. Her gaze was directed at the window, she seemingly already had forgotten about his presence. Moving as softly as he could, Kane left. But before he went out of teh house, he wrote his comm code down on a sheet of paper he found in the hallway. Just in case.

  


Hagen stared at his right hand, that refused to work properly. His fingers did not seem to want to do what he wanted. He frowned darkly.

"Master Dycos, can I help you?" Olana Uvas, the head-librarian, asked gently, when she stopped next to where he sat by one of the windows. "What are you looking for?"

"Medical records," he explained.

"Are you ill?" came the prompt question.

"Just research," he answered a bit gruffly. 

She did not seem convinced, but did not press further, probably deciding that a Jedi Master should know what was good for him. She shrugged, then smiled and went away. Hagen continued staring at his hand, then shook his head resignedly and continued his lecture of an old scroll on midichlorians and their specific attributes. 

The first time he had noticed the changes had been eight months ago. He had almost killed innocent bystanders when he had tried to trip a thief in the crowd and flattened the entire assembly to the ground. The outcry had been enormous, and Hagen had fled the scene, heart beating in his throat, his mind confused. Somehow the midichlorian-count in his blood had skyrocketed way past the scale. The micro-organisms seemed to be reproducing so fast that by now Jedi Master Hagen Dycos, formerly in middling range of power, would have easily be able to level Coruscant. Not that he even thought about such a thing. And he had not dared go see the temple's healers. 

He shivered. Not because he did not think they could help him, but because he was afraid they would betray him. That paranoia, also part of the symptoms, he thought, had also hindered him from confiding in Kane, and other friends. In hindsight his behavior always seemed ridiculous, but when the moment came, when he felt he had to trust someone, he always chose to hold back. Scratching a patch of dry skin at the base of his neck, Hagen sighed. Something was terribly wrong, and he had no idea what it was. The scrolls did not help much, he had found. There was nothing that was even remotedly close to what he was experiencing. 

Hagen was not really focusing on the report before him anymore. He had almost given up on finding anything, but then a piece of conversation drifted toward him from the library's front desk. 

"No, I fear we have nothing of that kind. But the prophecy section may have some pointers. If you would want to try, I can give you the exact location," Olana Uvas was just saying, her nasal voice pitched into a sweet timbre. 

"Thank you, Mistress Uvas," a male voice answered smoothly, and Hagen felt his thoughts freeze. He knew that voice! Damn! Pushing back his chair, the Jedi Master got up quickly, ignoring the screech of protest the chair's legs made upon the floor. He stood staring in the direction of the front desk, where he could see a hooded figure leave for the prophecy section of the library. Olana was thoughtfully gazing after the retreating visitor. Hagen frowned. Then he went after the newcomer.

They met in Section B-D, and when Hagen rounded a corner to step into the small corridor between the shelves, the visitor was just putting back a volume of holocubes. The dark cloak hid his features effectively, but the Jedi Master still wondered how he had managed to get past the guards.

"You must be mad," he declared in an angry whisper.

"Why?" the all too familiar voice asked coolly. "I believe you have quite an extensive collection here, and that spares me a lot of research time."

Hagen stepped closer toward the figure. "If they find you here –"

"They won't. Hagen, don't be so damn jumpy. I know what I am doing."

"What are you looking for?" the Jedi Master inquired, curious now. "What prophecy?"

"The Jen'da Prophecies," the other replied calmly. "A very rare piece of work."

"Why now?"

"Ah, a good question," his friend chuckled. "Maybe because I am bored."

But Hagen wasn't really listening. His thoughts were circling a very specific question. If anyone might know something about what was ailing him, it was this man. Licking his lips anxiously, Hagen Dycos reached out to lay a hand on the man's forearm. 

"I need your helpd," he breathed, a slight whine on his voice.

Apparently taken aback the other shrugged free of his grasp. "What is it?"

"Not here," Hagen explained. "Let's go to my quarters."

"Ah. A private conversation. I am honored."

  
For a moment Hagen felt ten years younger. "Come. Let's go," he suggested amiably. 

They walked past Olana, and only when he saw the curious glance the head-librarian directed at his companion, did Hagen realize how risky his showing himself with this hooded stranger was for him. There might be questions later on ... He exhaled in relief when the door to his quarters closed behind them. Safe. For now. Ushering his guest into a seat, he placed his walking cane on the table-top quite deliberately. As expected the newcomer's gaze lingered on the staff, before he turned his head to gaze up at the Jedi Master. 

"What can you tell me about the reproduction of midichlorians?" Hagen asked directly.

"Reproduction?" Shaking his head, the other let the hood of his cloak drop down to his shoulder. His formerly black hair was almost completely gray now, a dark gray, reminiscent of a storm cloud, or weathered granite. "You mean whether the midichlorian-count in, say, a Jedi's bloodstream could rise?" Hagen nodded. "Never heard about something like that," Roj Kell mused aloud. "At least not at your age. Usually the midichlorians stop reproducing once a certain level is reached, depending on a number of things. Have you been experiencing any troubles lately?"

"The past eight months," Hagen confessed. "They seem to be reproducing like mad. At the same time my body seems to be deteriorating. My memory is failing sometimes, too."

The ancient Sith Lord laughed quietly. "Then I must have made quite an impression on your memory," he quibbed. 

Hagen smiled. "You know you did," he answered gently. 

Sobering again, Roj Kell frowned. "Do you have any suspicions?"

The Jedi Master hesitated, his thoughts drifting again, to a conference eight months ago on Alderaan. "Yes," he breathed at last. "Indeed I do have a certain suspicion." And with a certain amount of mischief he realized that he could fully trust a friend who was so untrustworthy that his paranoia was perfectly balanced out. Hagen laughed. "I never thought I'd say this," he confessed, "but it is good to see you again."

Kane felt a bit light-headed by the time he was back in the city center. He had consulted a city directory to find the CorSec headquartes, and now he was seated in a small cafeteria for a light lunch, needing some time to digest his visit with Yanessa Bryar. Had he been right to leave her alone? She had claimed she would call some friends for support, yes, and he was a stranger, but he had been Trent's friend, too. Not for the first time in his life he felt very lonely. Idly stirring his cup of sweet tea, Kane directed a pensive frown at the sub he had ordered earlier. It looked appetizing, but suddenly he found he was not hungy anymore. 

"Sir, everything all right with you?" a waiter asked pleasantly, and Kane gave a small nod.

"Yes, thank you." 

The waiter shrugged and went away again. Kane heaved a small sigh. Raising his head he gazed out at the street, watching people pass, picking up their mood. Most seemed to be in a hurry, and there were flashes of joy and laughter mixed with sorrow out there. He sighed again, then rose from his seat, leaving the sub untouched. It would probably be offered to the next paying customer. Kane gave the waiter an apologetic smile as he left, and walked out into the street, determined to at least get a trail on Zulkur Arden before he found some quarters for tonight.

CorSec headquarters dominated a small plaza and was easy to identify. Relying on his outfit to at least convince the officers at the front-desk that he was authorized to enter, Kane stepped into the foyer and looked around. Immediately one of the uniformed men at the desk rose, urgently speaking into his head-comm, his eyes never leaving Kane. His collegue gave the Jedi Knight a somewhat suspicious glare, then stood and came around the desk to welcome him. 

"Good evening," he said in clipped tones. "What can we do for you, sir?"

"My name is Kane Jinn, Jedi Knight," Kane offered formally and handed the officer his ID card. 

"Yes, of course," the other replied, after a cursory and practised glance at his identification. "Kane Jinn of Coruscant, right?"

"Yes, that is right."

"And how may we be of service?"

"I was sent here to join an assignment conducted by Jedi Knight Zulkur Arden, but I cannot find him. I thought perhaps you could help me here."

"Zulkur Arden?" the officer's brow rose. "I suppose you should put that request to our tracking department. I will send someone to fetch you. If you would take a seat over there?" 

The man pointed at a sad assembly of chairs in a corner, where two Dralls and a teenage human girl were already waiting for one thing or the other. Kane joined them with a friendly nod and smile. None of them looked at him twice. 

It only took a few minutes, before a short female officer appeared to fetch him. She was obviously impressed with meeting a Jedi Knight in person, smiling at him all the while. Kane refrained from talking to her, and instead concentrated on drinking in every tiny detail of the building as they made their way deeper into the structure. Finally they reached their destination and his guide handed him over to one Colonel Malek. Malek was a tired-looking, elderly man, who shook Kane's hand absent-mindedly. 

"Welcome. Your arrival was announced already."

"Announced how?" Kane asked, bewildered. 

"Hm? Oh, we keep track of everyone important or suspicious who arrives on Corellia. Including Jedi Knights, lucky for you," he added with a weary smile and motioned for Kane to follow. "You are looking for Zulkur Arden, I was told," he continued, pitching his voice into a question. Kane nodded mutely, keeping stride with the colonel. "Well, Knight Arden has been investigating some smuggling incidents over the past two months, and the last we heard was that he was planning on lying low somewhere." Malek stopped at a cubicle and seated himself. He did not offer a chair to Kane, though. "We checked your ID, of course, and got confirmation for your authorized departure from Coruscant and authorized arrival on Corellia. The authorities deny, though, that you are to join Knight Arden's investigations."

Kane had a quick answer ready: "That is true. I won't be joining him for those particular investigations. But I am relying on what information he can give me on the people he is investigating."

"I see. So what is your directive from Coruscant?"

"No direct orders from th Council, if that is what you mean," Kane admitted. "I am also investigating smuggling activities. Conducted by a man named Mangus Zullawa. The trail has led me here, to Corellia."

Colonel Malek whistled through his teeth. "Zullawa, eh? Not bad. I don't think he was on Arden's list."

"Is that so?" Crossing his arms across his chest Kane decided to use some of his intimidating height to impress Malek a bit. "Why do I get the feeling that you are out to prevent me from joining Knight Arden instead of trying to assist me?"

Malek squinted up at him. "They don't breed fools on Coruscant, I can see that," he muttered, then twisted his chair around, turning his back on Kane, to activate his compad. "All right. Reason why I'm a bit cautious is that Knight Arden has propably stirred up more trouble than he could handle alone. We know where he is, you understand, since we provided that shelter. Therefore I'm a bit reluctant to reveal the location to you, Jedi and all."

"You need some more convincing?"

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble..."

Kane shrugged generously. "Not at all. As you said yourself, the reason for Knight Arden's disappearance may well be that he cannot continue investigating without jeopardizing his work. He has not contacted any other Jedi Knight resident on Corellia, has he?"

"Haven't thought of that," Malek confessed, and typed some code into his comm dial. "Good thinking, young man." Kane bristled a bit. He was almost thirty, for Force's sake! But Malek's voice interrupted him. "Ah, yes. Colonel Malek here. Yes, Master Halcyon, I have a quick question concerning a collegue of yours, Zulkur Arden. He has not tried to contact you, has he? No? Thank you. Why? Oh, another collegue, Knight Jinn, has been asking after him. Yes, thank you. I will tell him." Malek hit a switch to disconnect the call, then turned toward Kane with a pleased smile. "Master Halcyon says he hasn't seen Zulkur in months He says you can always come to him if you need help."

Nodding thoughtfully, Kane glanced briefly at the comm dial, where the recently dialled comm code was still visible, and memorized it quickly. Perhaps another ally would come in handy at one point. Then he turned his attention back on Malek. "That is all very well, and it proves that Zulkur Arden may be in danger. He has not even contacted another Jedi to assist him. Any reasonable knight would have done so. Perhaps he is injured, or worse has happened to him." Frowning hard, he bent down toward Malek, who unconsciously leaned back. "You will surrender the shelter's location to me right now, Colonel Malek. No more excuses. If your delaying tactics have endangered Knight Arden you will have to justify yourself in court. Is that clear?"

Malek gulped noisily. "Yes, sir. Of course. But I'll have to check back with my superior – And that is no delaying tactic," he added hurriedly, "that's protocol."

"Then make it quick, Colonel," Kane snarled, now truly angry. Damn these bureaucrats!

When finally he had the address and location he stormed out of CorSec headquarters, fuming. His day had not been well so far. And he dearly hoped that it would at least get better.

"Extreme care will be necessary for this operation to succeed," Inyo explained, from where she had draped her body over an incredibly comfortable couch. Dressed in a purple robe that went well with her eyes, she gave Mangus Zullawa a fond little smile that he returned gratefully. 

"That much is clear, love," he answered, checking over his blaster again. "But you yourself said that the virus should have impaired his reflexes enough by now. Enough for us to get close and overwhelm him, at least."

"And yet," she cautioned him, completely earnest now, "another side effect of my little darling is an immense boost in the victim's power in the Force. If you should fail to knock him out in time you will be dead before you can blink an eye." Her voice softened, taking on a motherly tone. "I would not want that, dearest."

Mangus' features lit up warnly, and again Inyo was astonished at how easy it had been for her to make him her willing tool. But then, she was very experienced in these matters. Beckoning him closer, she waited for him to kneel before the couch reverentially. With a gentle gesture she ran perfectly manicured fingers through his thick, black hair, down the back of his neck, and drew him closer. His breathing quickened in anticipation, and Inyo smiled. Such power ... She loved power, more than anything else, she knew. 

Which was why she had bedded Zulkur Arden in the first place, because he was a Jedi, one of those mighty sorcerers that had destroyed her parents' masters some forty years ago, that fateful day at distant Ruusan. But he had escaped, the side-effects of her precious virus pushing his mind into paranoia quickly. He was still around, she knew, and at last they had found his lair. By now he would be a ripe fruit, ready for the harvest. A beautiful, deadly weapon of unimaginable destructive potential. Yet Inyo needed him under her control, to experiment further, to find out how her pretty tool could be controlled most effectively.

"You must go, dearest," she whispered softly, her lips almost touching his ear. Mangus shuddered delicately, then raised his head to look at her. The longing in those indigo eyes was fierce, and Inyo felt herself responding to his naked need with alarming intensity. It took some of her self-control to let him go then. "You must leave," she said once more, and withdrew her hand. 

"I will go, love, as you command," he answered determinedly, but there was hurt in his tone, oh yes. That was another thing Inyo wanted very much. Hurt. 

When he had finally left, she sat up elegantly, always aware of how she looked, how she wanted to present herself. She needed perfection, craved it dearly, and yet perfection seemed so quaint, compared to power. A vulgar thought, she knew, and she remembered a lesson given decades ago, a quick lesson on perfection and power, that she had listened to with ears burning in shame, a fourteen year old serving girl lectured by one of her masters. She frowned in remembrance. What had been his name again? Strangely enough she could not recall, and then she realized that he had never given his name, had never surrendered it to her. Had he known her cravings then? In hindsight it seemed obvious, and the lesson only seemed proof for it. Even after all those years Inyo found herself blushing in embarrassment, the way she had back then.

Well. She had moved far beyond youthful ambtions. 

Rising gracefully, she straightened her dress self-consciously, and her eyes automatically sought the mirror's reflection, checking her image carefully. Perfect. Yes, that she was. A triumphant smile crept upon her generous lips, making her look even more sensual than she already did. Soon now she would have her former lover returned to her, and she would perfect her control over him. Soon now. Very soon.

The CorSec shelter was either incredibly obvious or else cleverly camouflaged. When Kane arrived in front of the run-down apartment block in the least desirable quarter of Coronet, he felt slightly apalled for some reason. Though he was used to disorder and discomfort both, Kane did relish the security of a beautifully kept house, and the clarity of the Jedi Temple's airy walkways and spacious rooms. Bracing himself, he walked toward the entrance cautiously. He could sense the malice hidden there easily, and just as easily convinced the presence concealed within shadows that he was not worth the while. As he stepped in front of the door, he could hear a faint rustle off to his left, and retreating footsteps. Kane studied the door critically, but found no booby-trap or similar. 

He turned th handle and was rewarded with an ear-splitting screech as he pushed the door open with some effort. It swung inward, scraping across sticky plasteel tiles that made him grimace in disgust. The stench inside was unbelievable. Hurrying inside, the Jedi Knight immediately began tracking the house for a presence that might point him toward Zulkur Arden. But the entire building was a den of dark intentions, suffering and violence. How any Jedi could agree to stay in this vicinity was beyond Kane. 

The elevators had been scavenged for spare parts long ago, leaving only rusting holes that could lead the unwary visitor into a plunge to death. So Kane had no choice but to use the staircase at the back of the house, which was littered with trash and stinking excrements. Quickly he threw his arm across his nose and mouth, to shield himself against some of the vile smells filling the corridor. He hurried through the poorly lit house, searching, and became more distressed with each floor he passed. He had reached the tenth floor or so, when he felt a flash of something, of recognition, and in an instant he knew that Zulkur Arden had found him. Following the direction he had felt the flash of awareness from, Kane cautiously walked along a dark hallway, and stopped in front of the last door.

"Come!" came a hoarse voice from within. 

Pushing at the door, Kane tensed in anticipation. The room beyond was as disorderly and dirty as the rest of the house seemed to be, and he could barely make out the figure seated at the dimmed window. 

"Who are you?" the man demanded harshly. 

"My name is Kane Jinn. Zulkur Arden?"

A bitter laugh rang out from the stranger. "I suppose so." Arden rose slowly, clumsily, and Kane tentatively stepped forward and closed the door behind him. 

"Is there any light?" he asked politely, already searching for power lines. 

"Light!" Zulkur Arden said contemptuously. "I don't need light. Hurts my eyes," he added grimly. The Jedi Knight was a tall man, not as tall as Kane, though, but much heavier set.

"You have been injured?" Kane asked, immediately turning into a protective mode. "I heard about your investigations. CorSec informed me of where you are hiding. If there is anything I can do to help you – "

Arden waved him into silence wearily. "No help necessary, Kane Jinn. I think a little light would not hurt. I think I'd like to take a good look at you." A small lamp was turned on and the light beam redirected so that it was pointed straight at Kane's face, blinding him effectively. Blinking into the garish light, he frowned. "Ah, young and eager," his host chuckled. "Welcome to my little den, Kane Jinn." 

The lamp was straightened again, and Kane took a relieved step forward, a smile on his face. Which died promptly when he first caught a glance at Zulkur Arden's face. Grimy hair hung into his sickly yellow eyes that seemed almost dead, and his facial skin appeared dry and sore. As if responding to Kane's scrutiny, Arden brought a hand up to scratch his bearded chin, and dry flakes of old skin came loose, opening more wounds underneath. The hand, Kane noticed with rising disgust, was more claw than anything else, the fingers bent arthritically, and the fingertips dark and swollen.

"You are ill," he stated the obvious, his voice revealing compassion and caring.

"Quite a sight, eh?" Zulkur Arden asked with a horrible smile that revealed gray teeth set in blackening gums. 

"How? How is that possible? And why did you not seek help?" Kane demanded, somehow furious at the man for having let this happen to him.

"But who can I trust, Kane Jinn?" the man asked, a dangerous whisper that set Kane's teeth on edge. Zulkur Arden took a slow step toward the young Jedi Knight, and the smell emanating from his rotting teeth was overwhelming. "Who can I trust? You? I do not think so," he finished in a hiss, and raised his claw-like hands threateningly. "You are not the first to seek me out, little Jedi," the man continued, "and I fear you won't be the last."

Before Kane could react in any way, blue lightning sprang from the other's fingertips, and when it reached him the young Jedi Knight was thrown back against the door hard. Blue tongues of electricity licked over his chest and face eagerly, and he felt his body jerk in helpless response to the mind-rendering pain that shredded his will into bits. When he blackened out it was almost gratitude, that he felt before oblivion closed all around him.

Hagen watched his guest pace the length of the room patiently, feeling somehow more at ease now that his secret was a secret no longer. He had endured the other's probing a while back, and had felt actually relieved, when Kell had announced that he had never before seen anything like what was ailing the Jedi Master. It confirmed what Hagen had already suspected. That this virus was unique, and not a mutation of another. It also had hardened his suspicion concerning the question of how he had been infected. 

"So, this conference on Alderaan eight months back, you suspect that you contracted the virus there. That is correct?"

"Correct," Hagen answerd calmly, relishing the cool of the other's magical voice. It soothed him somehow, taking part of his confusion away.

"And you suspect this woman – what was her name again?"

"Doctor Inyo Di'vitt of Corellia," the Jedi Master supplied.

"That one, yes, of having infected you. How?"

Hagen shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Why do you suspect her then?"

"A feeling. Only that."

For some reason Roj Kell stopped his pacing and turned to face him, pale eyes narrowed dangerously. "A feeling you should trust indeed, Hagen. I knew her, when she was a girl," the ancient Sith explained. 

"You mean she is a Sith?" the Jedi Master asked, aghast.

"For someone with a mental illness you are still a quick thinker," Roj Kell teased him. "No, she was no Sith. She was a slave, she and her parents. A pretty girl, and driven in a way I cannot describe." He shrugged. "I met her once, she caught my eye, you understand. A very pretty girl." Hagen kept his features carefully neutral. "But I do not see how she could have done what you claim she did."

"You saw for yourself," the Jedi Master reminded him. "The midichlorians are infected, you said, and they cause all those health problems that ail me."

"Yes, yes. Very hard to spot. And you did the right thing. The worst you could have done was to use the Force to heal yourself. Yet the question remains: for someone who is insensitive to the Force like her, she has achieved a very deep understanding of the workings of the Force."

"Perhaps she had someone to assist her. A Force-user," Hagen offered.

"You mean a Sith," Kell corrected him absent-mindedly. "I suppose that could be the answer to this riddle. And you sent Kane to Corellia, where Inyo Di'vitt might get her hands on him, or worse, that Sith?"

The Jedi Master shrugged guiltily. "It seemed the right thing to do."

"What if it was the Dark Side guiding you?" Kell asked conspiratively, a mocking smile on his lips and a challenging look in his eyes. 

Hagen blushed slightly. He knew what the other thought about the difference between Dark and Light, and, furthermore, what he thought of Hagen's own beliefs. Clearing his throat he asked right back: "Is there anything we can do? I remember you cleansed me of Dark Side traces once before, on Korriban. Could you do something like that again?"

Roj Kell pursed his lips thoughtfully, then shook his head. "Not like that. The infection has gone on for too long. I'd have to take more drastic measures."

"Such as?" Hagen asked, feeling suddenly afraid again.

Those pale green eyes regarded him with something he had never seen in them before. Compassion. "Drastic may be the wrong word, Hagen. The only solution I see is to destroy every infected midichlorian I can find."

Hagen swallowed hard. He knew that Kell was an excellent healer, when it came to healing others, and that he knew what he was talking about. But if he applied that cure, Hagen would lose almost every shred of power he possessed. For a moment that vision overwhelmed him and he lowered his gaze to stare at the floor in front of where he sat on a chair. In a small voice he answered: "I will have to think about this. A difficult choice."

"Granted," came the sharp reply, and in a gentler tone, that was almost fatherly, Roj Kell added. "But remember that I cannot stay forever. If I am found here you will not get that chance. And you only have that one, Hagen, as much as it pains me to say."

TBC


	2. Prelude to Disaster

Kane woke to a soft tuneless humming, and it took him some time to remember where he was and, more importantly, who was with him. His mind did a double-flip as he tried to sit up and failed. The attack had weakened him immensely, and he sank back onto the sticky floor with his head spinning like mad. Zulkur Arden, he noticed through barely open eyes, had retreated again into his chair by the window, where he was examining something held in his hands. In the gloom Kane could not make out what it was. Suddenly, Zulkur Arden's head came up, and he stared straight at the Jedi Knight, a piercing gaze that seemed to examine the young man's very soul. 

"You are curious?" Kane did not answer, and instead let his apprehensive silence goad the other into continuing. "It is something that was entrusted into my care some time ago," Arden explained, his voice gentle. "Something precious." Cradling whatever it was in his arms, he chuckled softly. "She will want it back, of course, but I will guard it as I promised I would." 

He fell silent abruptly, and Kane shivered, when he could sense a certain chill settle throughout the room. Zulkur Arden rose with surprising grace, a reminder of what he had been once, Kane thought. With a snap-hiss a lightsaber blade came to life in his hands, illuminating the ailing Jedi with a garish green light. And then, as if a curtain was being drawn aside, the waning presence of Zulkur Arden opened into an abyss of darkness, a melange of anger, hatred and fear. And something else: greed. With that vortex of malicious power so close, Kane found it hard to breathe. So that was the secret! Zulkur Arden had turned to the Dark Side! That was why he was hiding here and had never dared contact Master Halcyon when he had fallen ill! He stared helplessly up at his captor, his mind racing as he tried to think of anything he might say to ease the situation, or what he might do to escape. When Arden moved past him, a cloak of darkness was smothering Kane's thoughts, turning them into a useless mass of fleeting snippets of memories. 

"They are here," he heard the other whisper. 

With a supreme effort Kane twisted around to lie on his side. If he reached out he could have easily made a grab for Arden's right ankle, but before he could make his move, the battered door to the apartment broke open, and light flooded the room mercilessly. Too late Kane remembered what Zulkur Arden had said about light, and what it did to his eyes. Staggering back with an animal scream of pain, the Dark Jedi threw an arm across his face and dropped into a protective crouch. There were voices outside, Kane could hear, and they were shouting to one another excitedly. But still Arden's black presence shielded the newcomers' emotions from the Jedi Knight. 

He scrambled to his feet hurriedly, and used the wall to support himself as he rose. It all happened so fast, that he almost stumbled into Zulkur Arden as the other turned away from the light, whimpering softly. With a growl the older man pushed him aside, and Kane found himself crashing against the wall by the window, astounded by the other's physical strength. Turning back toward the door slowly, Zulkur Arden straightened again, gathering power with every second. Kane's eyes widened in astonishment at the immense amount of energy filling the other man, like bottled-up lightning, and he remembered the attack that had felled him previously. Out of reflex, he pulled the Force around himself, trying to shield himself. A mistake. Instantly the Dark Jedi whirled around to face him again, eyes blazing with an unholy fire that burned right through Kane's mental barriers. 

Watch out!" he shouted, trying to divert Arden's attention again, but by that time whoever had broken open the door had gathered enough courage to act. 

Someone snapped: "Get him!" and a second later a volley of blaster bolts filled the tiny apartment. 

Zulkur Arden screamed again, but this time the challenge in his tone was unmistakable. It was the angry roar of a krayt dragon disturbed in his lair, and it shattered the window above Kane's head, sending sharp splinters into the vibrating air. It was unbelievable. When the scream had died at last the silence that came crashing back into the Jedi's awareness was almost deafening. Kane watched Arden's green lightsaber cut wildly at the figures outlined against the light from the corridor outside, saw them fall back gradually. 

He shook off some of his weakness and caught a deep breath before he made a second attempt at rising to his feet. He stood on swaying legs, undecided about what to do. It seemed as if Arden did not really need his help, not with that much power being channelled through his mind and body. But he did not really feel any desire to help the Dark Jedi at all. Much later Kane Jinn would question his own sanity, when he started running toward the other, whose back was turned to him, and on impact locked both arms around his waist, squeezing hard in an attempt to stop Arden's furious advance on Kane's would-be rescuers. 

And he would never forget the sound of Arden's bones snapping like dry twigs as they crashed onto the floor. Kane was carried forward by his own momentum and came to a stop a few inches away from the Dark Jedi. Looking back over his shoulder the young Jedi Knight saw the other's eyes wide open in shock. Blood was bubbling from his mouth, and Kane realized that somehow a broken rib had to have punctured Arden's lung. With a mind fueled by dread and guilt, Kane sat up and hurriedly ran his hands over the man's torso, which was almost entirely smashed. He sat back, stunned, and then the cool muzzle of a blaster rifle came to rest at his right temple. 

"Nice work, son," a man told him, his voice laced thickly with amusement. Kane turned his head wearily to gaze up at the stranger, but before he could catch a glimpse at the man's face his vision turned into a blue sea of nothing. _Stun-bolt_, was his last observation.

In this forcibly induced stupor he found himself racing the narrow corridors of a dark maze, pursued by a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Hagen Dycos. Blue lightning was running along the walls at his sides, chasing him, and the man's cackling laughter filled the air with madness. And with each step his hunter took, Kane heard the other's bones snap, one after the other. Her woke with a small scream, his body drenched in sweat, to find himself upright, submerged in a stasis field. He could not move at all. Panicking a bit, Kane tried to free himself, but was too dizzy and confused to succeed. Helpless, he let his shoulders slump in defeat, but after a short while he resolved to analysing his current situation. 

All right. He had found Zulkur Arden, who had turned to the Dark Side and fallen ill somehow. Arden, who was guarding something precious. And someone had been after the Dark Jedi, that much was clear now. The question was who. He studied his surroundings critically, but there was not much to see. A small, round chamber, with one door opposite from him. He guessed that there would be cameras installed somewhere, a ventilation grid above his head, maybe. And then the door opened. Grimly setting his features, Kane Jinn gazed at the dark rectangle expectantly.

He was young. A tall human, with dark blond hair and brilliant blue eyes that were studying her calmly. She could easily see that he was as confident with his power as Zulkur Arden had been when she had first met him. Walking closer to the Jedi, Inyo pursed her lips ever so slightly, pleased with what she was seeing. A contemptuous smile flickered across his face, and she realized that he must have picked up on her thoughts. She nodded, then crossed her hands on her back and cocked her head to look at him. 

"My, aren't you a pretty one," she purred, and a soft laugh was her only comment to his shocked expression. He was definitely uncomfortable in her presence. Good. "I hope Mangus was not too hard on you," she continued lightly. "When he heard who you are, he was about ready to kill you. But that would have been a waste, don't you think?"  
  
"Mangus? Mangus Zullawa?" the Jedi exclaimed, obviously surprised. "So that was who Arden was after!"

"And yourself," she added sharply. 

His eyes turned very cold all of a sudden, and she tensed involuntarily. "And myself, yes. A friend of mine died on Tatooine ... "

"Trent Bryar," Inyo said dismissively. "A Corellian of shady reputation. You paid a visit to his ex-wife, didn't you."

  
"I confess you know a bit too much about me for my taste."

"And now you want revenge?"

  
His eyes flickered in denial. "No. Revenge is of the Dark Side. I have to accept Trent's death, but I will not tolerate Zullawa's evil machinations."

"The Dark Side," Inyo echoed contemptuously. "What do I care about that?"

  
The Jedi smiled slowly. "Perhaps you should care a bit more. After all, you have just caught yourself a dangerous Dark Jedi."

"You are referring to Zulkur Arden, I assume? No, he is not dangerous, not at all. At least not in the state he's in right now. You broke his back, and most of his ribs, young friend. A few months ago I might have had you killed for that offense alone. I do not like others to play with my toys, especially if they're playing as roughly as you did."

  
"Your what?" His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he realized what she was telling him. 

She gave a coy little laugh. "He was quite a handsome man, once. And he seemed to enjoy my company."

"This sickness. Is that your doing?" he asked. 

Oh, he was definitely sharp, this one. Inyo smiled coldly up at him. "Do you like it? A work of art, that little virus," she claimed, not without pride.

"A virus," he breathed, sounding stunned. She could tell by the look in his eyes what he was thinking, and her smile turned positively cruel.

"Are you thinking about your Master Dycos, perhaps? A very famous Jedi, very educated and insightful. I have met him once, on Alderaan. Alas it was just a very brief meeting. A pity."

"_You_ infected him with that virus, didn't you?" Jinn's voice was eerily calm. 

"Of course. I have heard all of the rumours surrounding his supposedly dark past. He wrote quite an accurate report on the history of the Sith, that I found very interesting. Master Dycos certainly has a fair grasp of the Dark Side. No one would be surprised if he went berserk all of a sudden, I think."

"Just like Arden, is that not so?"

"Exactly! Good looks _and_ brains. I am impressed, Kane Jinn." 

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Tell me about this virus."

  
Inyo licked her lips eagerly. She loved to talk about her work. "It is quite simple, actually. The transmitters are mutated midichlorians that reproduce fast. They also carry certain hormones that alter the victim's mind and make him paranoid and aggressive. An additional effect are the affliction of the victim's vegetative system and general health. Slower reaction time, amnesia, dry, sore skin, weakening bone structure ... One could call this a safety catch, to make sure the victim does not remain a loose gun."

  
"What's the purpose of all this?"

"Oh, isn't it obvious, then?" she asked innocently. "The goal, Kane Jinn, is to create an immensely powerful creature that will turn against anyone who tries to help it. It will destroy everyone it suspects of cheating or slighting it, the paranoia and deteriorating health will make sure of keeping those suspicions alive and a very real threat. Of course the Jedi will have to put any such creature down, and it in turn will defend its own life to the death. That way the Jedi will destroy one another, you see?"

"I see. Indeed, I do see. There's a very easy solution to that problem, though."

"Really? I am curious. Go ahead."

"An afflicted Jedi could be cut off from the Force by decree of the Council. In such an extreme case that would be allowed by the Code."

"No infected Jedi would allow such a measure voluntarily. And even if he were still sane enough to realize the benefits, he would never want to give up his power," she snarled, then leaned closer. "Would _you _give it up, if you had to?"

His lips compressed into a tight line. "Probably not," he grated out. 

  
"Fact is, Kane Jinn, that using the Force to try to heal the victim will only accelerate the process. And the worst one could do is to use your so-called Dark Side power on the virus. That was what Arden tried, in the end, when all else failed. You have seen what it did to him."

"How much time? How much time until the victim's mental and physical health have deteriorated that far?"

"Zulkur Arden managed in six months, Master Dycos has lasted a bit longer, so far. Which brings us to my reaon for this little visit. Would you be so good as to tell me how he has been afflicted so far? Have you noticed anything odd about him? Did he confide in you? Anything?"

Kane Jinn's face twisted into a disgusted grimace, and Inyo could tell at once that this would become a long and tenious conversation.

Only a day. It had passed in the matter of a heart-beat, had lasted for an eternity. Trying to sort out his warring emotions Jedi Master Hagen Dycos had sought the solitude of the park outside the temple, but the greenery had reminded him too much of what he was to lose. The quietude of the library had not soothed him either. He had still been restless and driven. At last he had returned to his own quarters to meditate, and he was still seated on the simple mattress he used for his exercises when the lights came on and a familiar figure was reflected in the viewport against the black background of night. 

"Is it that late already?" Hagen whispered, unashamed to show his fear. Never afraid, not of him.

"Close your eyes."

It was easy to obey that voice, easy to trust it. Ever since his thirteenth year Hagen had dreamed of that voice, followed it, longed for it, even, though he hated its owner for his stubborn views and loved him for his wisdom and kindness. He could sense the other's presence as the Sith knelt behind him and his hands were placed gently on his shoulders. 

"Relax."

"But I haven't even decided!" Hagen tried, but a low hiss shut him up.

"Ssh, no more words. Let your feelings show you the way."

Silent tears began running down Hagen's cheeks, clinging to his beard and wetting his lips with their salty taste. His heart was in turmoil. What was he to do? Give up the Force, give up his power? But did he need either one to be what he was? Did he need it to fulfill his duties? The answer was yes and no. He would not be what he had been, he would not be someone different either. 

"Do you want the power?" Roj Kell whispered softly. "Is that what you believe defines your being? Then let me show you something, and we shall see whether you will realize the truth about yourself at last."

Hagen let out a frightened gasp when he was seized by an irresistable surge that dragged him right through his own mind and plunged him into a nightmare vision that was all too real. He was himself, he could feel it, and he was filled with an anger that he had never experienced before. He could not fight it and it took possession of his very heart, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. He was furious. And then he saw the reason for his outrage, spread before him in its ugly glory. A battle-field. Hagen did not know whether this battle had ever taken place at some point of time, or if it was just an image of something more. But he did not care. What he saw filled every fiber of his being with hatred and an overwhelming desire for vengeance. The scent of blood and gore hung in the air, sickening him, and the cries of the wounded and dying clamored all about him. He had to end this massacre, had to find the source of this slaughter. Wild-eyed, he hunted all across the battle-field, searching, while around him people trashed in seizures and convulsed in invisible chains of agony. 

Then he found him.

Standing at the very center of the destruction, a black-armored warrior was swinging a long quarterstaff in slow circles over his head, and a deep, powerful humming noise filled the air, ripping through the army opposing him. The screams of the dying were deafening against the background of that steady, unrelenting noise, and Hagen felt nauseated by the image. Yet he fought against the dark knight's spell relentlessly, gaining ground inch by inch. All the while his fury was building in a tidal wave ready to be unleashed, a wild fire burning at his back, dancing in anticipation, shouting for release. He held it, held it further, feeling a strange satisfaction spread throughout his heart as he reached the eye of the storm. Filled with righteous anger he confronted the dark knight, who brought his staff around one last time and pointed it straight at the Jedi Master. The blast that followed should have blown him apart, he knew, but somehow he managed to withstand it. Weaving strands of power from the fires of his anger, Hagen felt his pride swell into a single shout of utmost delight as he sent his own power against that creature of darkness, burying deeply into it, his only desire to kill and destroy. 

The dark knight was torn apart in shower of blood and gore. 

Chest-heaving, the Jedi Master dropped to his knees, eyes gleaming with joy at his victory. The silence that had fallen over the battle-field was sweet and light. And there were tears in his eyes when he realized that he had managed to end the killing. But when he reached out with the Force all around, he found that except for himself no one was alive any more. He was all alone with the dead. 

"This is the future, Hagen," a voice told him, and he woke again, drenched in sweat.

"No!" he exclaimed, shocked. "I would never succumb to this!"

The voice was very close now. "You would, and you will, Hagen."

But the Jedi Master shook his head. "You are trying to manipulate me!" he accused the voice.

"Really. Well, if that is truly what you think, my friend, I will – "

With a loud bang the door opened, and Hagen jumped up instantly, already whirling toward the newcomers. Roj Kell, he noticed, had stepped to the side, his right hand slipped underneath his long cloak. Hagen could easily guess that the Sith had taken hold of his lightsaber handle. In the door-way, Master Elvor Layatos stood rooted in place, his huge eyes fixed only on the grey-haired stranger standing next to Hagen. The Gotal's mouth was working frantically, but no sound came out. It was only then that Hagen became aware of the insidious strands of dark power that had locked around the alien's throat and were constricting it mercilessly. 

"Let him go!" the Jedi Master commanded, and waved imploringly at Roj Kell. 

The Sith did not even look at him. "I warned you, Hagen," he pressed out. "I should have left earlier."

Hagen shook his head. "No! You are the only one who can help me! I will protect you! They will understand once I explain – "

"Protection," Roj Kell snarled, "I do not need your protection, Hagen, I never did." Master Layatos' neck broke with an audible snap and he was whisked into the room and dropped unceremoniously in a corner, like a discarded jacket. "Time to go," the ancient Sith grated out. He shrugged out of his cloak with inborn elegance, and ignited his lightsaber and instance before three more people, two Jedi Masters and an apprentice, Hagen noticed desperately, stormed into his quarters. 

"You!" Master Lockba exclaimed, and the Mon Calamari's eyes swivelled toward Hagen Dycos instantly. "Master Dycos!" she exclaimed, just before Kell lept toward her. The Jedi Master brought up her own lightsaber instantly, and her blue blade met the Sith Lord's yellow in a shower of sparks. The other two Jedi immediately joined the fray, and before Hagen could do anything, the four combatants were out of the door. He followed, realizing too late that he had forgotten his own weapon in his quarters. Yet he decided against going back for it. By now the entire section of the temple was in turmoil. This level housed the masters' quarters, and in the matter of moments the sound of doors banging open and people shouting filled the entire floor. Hagen raced along the hallways, searching for the Sith. 

He found him sommersaulting down a flight of stairs, ten or more Jedi hot on his trail. But he landed on the next floor unmolested, and pivoted on his heels left arm outstretched. 

"Su'hate!" he shouted, his magical voice ripping through everyone present, even Hagen, who felt as if his brain were being torn apart. 

"No," the Jedi Master whispered, paralyzed with uncertainty. He could not just stand by and do nothing, while the Sith magician butchered his own brethren. And yet he could not fight his friend either, not with what he meant to him, and not with Kell being his only chance to be cured of his illness. "Stop!" he roared, his voice enhanced by sheer dread. No one took notice. 

Finally Hagen raced down the stairs to join the battle unarmed. Where he could, he tried to catch the Jedi's attention and implored them to halt their attack, but the incredulity and betrayal in their eyes quickly made him seek another approach. Setting his jaw grimly, Hagen darted between the first few rows of Jedi warriors and dropped to his knees. His own momentum carried him across the sleek marble floor and right he slid unstoppingly toward the tall Sith Lord who was just blocking a wide slash directed at him by one of the other Jedi. Kell's own counterstroke came low, and was stalled in the last possible moment, before the yellow blade could slash through Hagen's neck. 

"Please," the Jedi Master asked urgently. "Please surrender. For me."

Looming over him, his lightsaber held firmly in both of his hands, Roj Kell stood motionless for just a heart-beat, his pale green eyes searching the Jedi Master's face incessantly, as if looking for any hint of insincerity or deception. But before he could answer, someone vaulted over Hagen Dycos' kneeling figure and rammed his blue blade into the Sith Lord's chest, right up to the hilt. The scream that came out of Kell's mouth was one of sheer fury, as he was driven back and pushed up against the wall. With cold accuracy the blue blade was retrieved and deactivated, and its owner took a practised step back, secure in having performed well. Only then did the Jedi Knight turn back to face the master. It was Kane. 

Hagen was struck speechless. Behind Kane's tall silhouette Roj Kell dropped to his knees heavily, a look of disbelief on his face, and fell over to lie on the marble floor, unmoving. Scrambling to his feet, Hagen rushed over to join the fallen Sith Lord's side. 

"No!" he pleaded and flipped Kell's unresisting body on his back. Pale green eyes were looking at him mockingly. "Don't die," Hagen whispered, his voice breaking. 

The ancient Sith beckoned for him to lean closer, his fingers moving incredibly slow. Hurrying to comply, Hagen put his ear over the other's lips, waiting. 

"A guardian, my friend, will protect those he knows to be in danger. And he will mourn those he is forced to slay." That enchanting voice was no more than a sigh now. "You chose well, Hagen. You chose well."

The Jedi Master closed his eyes ever so briefly, and when he opened them again to reality there were tears in his eyes again. Caught in the other's pale green gaze he realized that he had indeed made his choice. 

"All right," he said at last, determined. "Let's do it then."

Roj Kell smiled at him, before he leaned closer and took his head in his hands. "Be brave now, Hagen," he asked, "this will hurt a lot."

  
By the time Inyo Di'vitt left his prison, Kane was hoarse and his throat was burning painfully. All right. He had indeed uncovered a lot of information in that exchange, mostly about the virus ailing Hagen, but also quite a bit about Inyo herself. Her hatred for the Jedi had grown deep, it must have festered in her heart for years. The Jedi Knight was wondering hard what could have caused such hatred. He knew that she had to know something of the Jedi, and the Force, to be able to come up with such a weapon against them, and he suspected that Zulkur Arden, or another Jedi, might have assisted her here. For Inyo herself was not Force-sensitive, just immensely clever. 

Kane's shoulders slumped a bit. He was tired and thirsty. Which meant that he would need some rest before he could set up a plan to escape. But first he needed to make sure that there really was no way to cure the virus. Inyo had been so certain, when she had claimed that no Jedi would willingly give up his power to save his own life. It told Kane something about her general view of the Order, but it also revealed her ignorance. True, there may be a lot of Jedi, especially newly knighted Jedi, who would be incredibly loath to losing the power they commanded, but a master, who knew better than to cling to what was no more than a tool, who had realized that the essence of power lay elsewhere, might rethink his choices. 

If there was one Jedi Master who incorporated that ideal it was Hagen Dycos. Hagen had never been one to use his power excessively in his line of duty. The Force always was a last resort to him, a guiding hand if needed, but seldomly a weapon. It was what Kane admired in his mentor, that combination of detachment from worldly matters and the level-headedness with which he still handled everyday life. There was no distinction between the Order and the common people. Whoever called Hagen Dycos a dreamer was badly mistaken. And Kane was confident that the Jedi Master would understand the necessity of ending the threat he posed. He only needed to get back to Coruscant to tell him exactly that, before it was too late. 

He was just beginning to ponder the possibilities of his escape, when the door opened once more. A guard, wearing a thick jumpsuit and a helmet with face-guard stepped in, balancing a cup and jug on a tray. Only then did the Jedi Knight remember how thirsty he was. And yet, what if there were sedatives, or worse, bacteria, mixed into that beverage? He did not trust Inyo Di'vitt, and he trusted Mangus Zullawa even less. The pirate knew now that he had captured his hunter by chance, and Kane would not put it past the man to kill him, regardless to Inyo's wishes. The guard poured water into the cup, then stepped closer. The stasis field released Kane's head, allowing him to drink, when the cup's rim was pushed against his lips.

"Drink," the guard commanded in a low voice.

"What, without a thorough analysis?" Kane tried flippantly.

"No poison, Jedi," the guard hissed, sounding angry. 

Kane grinned. "No? So, what's in it instead?"

"It is just water," the man replied, exasperated. 

But suddenly an image flashed in Kane's mind, startling him. He squinted at the guard, but there was no way he could see past the face-shield. Instead he reached out with the Force, probing the other's presence delicately. In an instant another image answered, showing two familiar faces. Kane shot a mental picture back, imagining a Jedi Knight, and formed it into a question. _Master Halcyon?_ The reply was just as swift, and Kane relaxed somewhat. When the cup was put to his lips again he drank slowly, savoring the cool taste of the water. There _was_ something mixed into it. And then he lost consciousness.

"He is what?" Inyo exclaimed, as she whirled toward Mangus, who had just brought her the news. "He was completely healthy when I left him!"

Mangus shrugged uncertainly. "Well, now he isn't."

"You have had him brought to the medical ward, yes? Good. No need in wasting time then," she added gloomily. 

Rushing past Mangus she stalked toward the turbolift that would take her a few levels down, to the special ward she had had furnished to hold Arden, and which he had escaped once already. Not this time, though, thanks to Kane Jinn. Still furious, Inyo stepped into the lift and pushed the button to close the door behind her. But in the last instance someone slipped through the small gap between the doors. A woman, holding a blaster trained on Inyo's chest.

"Not a word out of you," the woman threatened. Automatically Inyo looked up to see whether the camera installed into the lift was operational. "Oh, don't worry about that," the woman remarked, then waved at the watching lense. "Got her," she mouthed and smiled. 

Inyo swallowed drily. "You have a friend here?"

"Two friends, actually," the stranger shrugged. "Ah, the medical ward. We're here." The woman stepped behind Inyo and prodded her not so gently. "Get going."

"You aren't worried about any guards?"

"No, not really. Stop, stay where you are." The woman, now standing next to Inyo and boring the barrel of her blaster into the scientist's flank hard, took a quick look around. "Nobody here," she commented softly. "Kane?"

There was a rattle form one of the offices. "I'm here, Yanessa!" a familiar voice called out.

"Jinn! I thought he was unconscious!" Inyo exclaimed.

The woman called Yanessa shrugged again. "Just a fake to get him down here," she explained. 

Suddenly revelation dawned on Inyo. "You are Bryar's ex-wife, aren't you?"

"You got it."

The doctor smiled cruelly. "Ah, so the the Jedi does not want revenge for his partner's death, but you do. Is that not so?"

"Could be." Yanessa nodded toward the office. "I think you could help him find whatever he is looking for there."

"A cure," Inyo snorted, as she was marched toward the office, where Kane Jinn was rummaging through the desk. The shelves had been searched already, and her valuable data lay everywhere. She grimaced in disdain as she said: "You won't find anything. There is no antidote."

He looked up at her, his blue eyes calm. "Yet."

"What?"

"It stands to reason," he explained, and heaved another stack of data discs on top of the desk. Searching through them quickly he continued. "Why else would you want Arden back? To test something. What would that be, if not a way to control him? To control the virus?"

"A clever boy," Inyo snarled. "But not clever enough. All any so-called antidote could achieve would be to halt the midichlorian growth and keep the paranoia at a stable level. It would only help to gain a temporary hold on the virus."

Kane Jinn stopped his search and gazed at her again. "But it is a beginning, isn' it?" He nodded at Yanessa Bryar. "We'll take her with us. Where is Master Halcyon?"

Blinking her violet eyes rapidly, Inyo felt confused. "Another Jedi? How did you find us anyway?"

"Oh, this hide-out is hardly a secret, Doctor," Yanessa told her. "CorSec has known about it for some time, but so far they didn't have the resources to go against Zullawa. Still, when Kane didn't call I paid a visit to CorSec and Malek told me that Kane was going to see this Zulkur Arden. I was already going to leave when Master Halcyon came storming in to demand to know where Arden and Jinn were. As it turned out he had felt an immense disturbance in the Force. Dark Side, he said. So we went to the shelter and found the mess your people left there. Master Halcyon decided to take this into his hands and I sorta went along."

"Your Master Halcyon must be very confident in his abilities," Inyo commented drily.

"He's Corellian. What do you expect?"

Listening to the women only with half an ear, Kane quickly stuffed every datacard he could find into a make-shift sack he had fashioned from his cloak. He shared Inyo's view concerning the Jedi Master's confidence, but he pushed those worries aside to concentrate on his own task. 

But then Yanessa said: "I hope you won't demand that we take the entire laboratory equipment with us next."

He shook his head. "No. CorSec can do that. But I want to go see Arden before we go."  


"You want to leave him behind?" Inyo asked, confused. "Why?"

"He's too dangerous," Kane replied calmly, then slung the sack over his shoulder. "Yanessa, wait at the elevator. Master Halcyon should be with us shortly."

"Good. But make it quick, okay?"

Kane only nodded, then cautiously walked through the deserted corridors of the medical ward. When he had woken from the artificial sleep the sedative had put him into, he had proceeded to take out the medics and guards systematically. They were all lying in one of the wards, each in deep slumber. Leaving the sack out in the hallway, the Jedi Knight entered the secured ward holding Zulkur Arden, or what was left of him. Hooked up to a life-support machine, the man seemed awfully pale, and in the artificial lights of the ward his sore skin and sunken-in cheeks made it appear as if he were dead already. The medics had patched up the most grievous of his wounds, but Kane's memory supplied an all too vivid image of the man's state. He stopped at the side of the bed and looked down on the Dark Jedi, undecided of what to do. 

"Hey," he called out softly. There was no reaction. Very gently, Kane extended his senses and gave the other's awareness a slight nudge to wake him up. He could feel how weak Arden was, and it did not help to know that most of his injuries had been Kane's doing. Suddenly Arden's yellow eyes snapped open. "Can you speak?" Kane asked, and there was a mute nod. 

"Drugs – help," the Dark Jedi explained.

Kane nodded understandingly. "I am taking Inyo Di'vitt to Coruscant, her and her research data. I suppose the government scientists will leap at the opportunity to examine that data. Perhaps they can find a cure," he added.

"You fool," Zulkur Arden breathed, "you will – be handing – that weapon over – to the government?"

"But the threat can be neutralized, if we find a cure."

"Destroy the virus – now. Destroy the data. Kill – everyone – who knows."

Kane frowned. "I can see that the drugs didn't alleviate the paranoia."

Zulkur Arden gave a bellowing laugh. "What do you need – a cure – for? Simply make the – virus vanish."

"My master has been infected," Kane explained at last, very quietly. "I do not know how far he has gone yet. You suggest that I kill him too?"

For a moment Arden was silent. Then he closed his eyes. "I wish you could succeed, Kane. I wish – I could be cured. But better to die – than taking this risk."

"I just want to help," Kane replied, shaking his head. "There has to be a possibility to heal you."

"Too late. Your master – I am sorry about that."

The sound of running feet made Kane's head snap around, and then Yanessa stood in the doorway, panting. "Kane! She's gone!"

"What? How could you – " Growling softly, Kane ran to the door, then looked back at Arden before he fixed his eyes on Yanessa again. "You had a blaster! You could have used it!"

She stared up at him, furious. "_You_ are telling me to shoot an unarmed woman? A Jedi Knight?"

Rolling his eyes, Kane shook his head. "No matter. Did she take the elevator?"

"Pushed me against the wall and was gone before I could say 'Coruscant'. She's pretty strong for someone so fat. Must be a matter of mass or something," she concluded. "What about him?" she added, nodding toward Arden.

"We gotta get out of here now," Kane told her, ignoring the question. "Here." He picked up his cloak and handed it to her. "These are the datadiscs. We have to get them out. Go ahead, okay? And you do have permission to use the blaster as you see fit, okay?"

"Sure thing." She threw him a last, concerned glance. "Don't be too long."

Inyo was gasping for breath by the time she had reached her own quarters. Furious, she launched herself at the comm station installed into her desk, but found that all lines were off receive. That damn Jedi had to have tampered with the comm center. Where was Mangus? She had not seen a single person on her way to her quarters, and by all rights they should be all over the place, tracking down the intruders. Then she remembered what Yanessa Bryar had told her. What if CorSec had decided to move against Zullawa at last? No matter. She had to get away, that was all that counted now. With a concerned glance at the precious cask standing on the desk top she began packing a few necessities hurriedly. The cask had to come with her, she coud not leave it behind. They may have her data, but with the virus' prototype she still had the advantage. And all the necessary knowledge was stored inside her head. 

"Inyo!" 

Whirling around with a startled yelp, she stared at Mangus, uncomprehending. "Where is everyone?"

"There's a Jedi loose in the complex, and we are trying to corner him, but he's too good. The sentinels also report a mass of CorSec vehicles coming our way. We need to go!" He threw a glance at her packings. "Good. You've already thought of that. But no time to waste. Come." He stepped forward to grab her arm, then started dragging her toward the door. 

"Wait!" she pleaded, breaking free. "I cannot leave that behind." She snatched up the cask and pressed it against her bosom possessively. "Now I am ready:"

Mangus grimaced at the cask, then nodded. "All right. Let's go. Transport is waiting on the roof."

They left her chambers hurriedly, and Mangus led her toward the emergency stairs at the back of the building. Sighing inwardly, Inyo started the long walk up, but her legs were protesting that excertion heavily. By the time they had reached the last floor, she was drenched in sweat and leaned against the wall to rest. Mangus' eyes were pleading. 

"Just one more set of stairs," he said. "We need to _hurry_!"

There was a loud boom from above, and the ceiling creaked ominously in the backwash of an explosion. "No!" Inyo exclaimed, shocked.

"There goes our transport," Mangus muttered angrily. "All right. Back down." 

He hurried past her, blaster drawn, and vanished around the corner. A moment later Inyo heard him shout, and she quickly walked down the stairs to see what was happening. Rounding the corner she saw Mangus stand at the landing to the next floor, confronted by a short, stocky human with dark hair and green eyes. The stranger held a lightsaber in both hands, the tip of the blade mere inches from Mangus' face. 

"Ah, Doctor Di'vitt, I assume? Why don't you come down here, nice and slow?"

Following the unmistakable order slowly, Inyo hugged the cask to her body tightly, like a mother might hold her child in the face of danger. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice unnaturally high with fear. 

"I am Dex Halcyon. At your service," he replied laconically. 

The Jedi Master. Of course. Inyo stepped up next to Mangus, her eyes fixed on their opponent. "What are you planning to do now?"

"CorSec will be storming the building any moment now. I figure all I have to do is wait til they come to fetch you."

Next to Inyo, Mangus reared up, an angry snear on his face. "CorSec will never get Mangus Zullawa, and you won't either, Jedi!" he exclaimed, and before she could blink her eyes he had snatched the cask out of her embrace and hurled it at the Jedi. 

"No!" Inyo screamed, horrified. 

The Jedi Master's eyes widened slightly, then he pivoted on one heel with impossible speed, and kicked the cask right back at Mangus, who was too late to catch it. It shattered against his head, spreading blood all over him, and over Inyo, while the sharp splinters dug into her flesh painfully, cutting and stabbing. She froze, knowing exactly what this meant. 

"You utter, utter fool!" she screeched, all of her self-control gone. 

Launching herself at her lover she threw all her weight against him, and had the satisfaction to hear his skull crack when he impacted against the duracrete wall at his back. When she looked around again the Jedi had vanished.

He had seen Yanessa to the elevator and sent her down before he returned to Zulkur Arden's side. "Time to say farewell," he said slowly, sorrow in his eyes. 

"Guess so – Kane." The Dark Jedi gave him a horrible smile. "Better go fast."

"What are you planning to do?"

"I don't share – your view. The virus must be – destroyed. Go. Quickly." 

The last word was delivered in a hiss, and Kane involuntarily took a step back. But then he could feel the darkness rising within Arden's presence once more, building up power with each passing moment. It rose like a whirlstorm, and would soon envelop everything around. It was clear to Kane now, what the Dark Jedi was planning to do. Turning on his heels, Kane started running. He did not look back once. Calling the elevator he waited anxiously, sensing the Dark Side fill the medical ward like an itch that had crept underneath his skin. When the elevator doors finally opened he rushed inside quickly, and noticed the other passenger almost too late. Wild-eyed, Inyo Di'vitt was staring at him. Her ample form was covered with blood from head to toe, and he could make out glittering shards of glass that had embedded themselves into her skin somehow.

"You!" she grated out, her body tensing as she prepared to leap at him. 

Self-consciously, Kane hit the emergency button and used the Force to pin her to the opposite wall. Behind him, the elevator door silently opened into darkness. "Calm down," he told the raging doctor, but she wasn't listening.

"You believe I will let you get away? You have destroyed my life's work! You ignorant fool! You will die for this!"

She was desperate, he could see that clearly. "There's no way you can make that undone now," he tried. "This building won't hold that much longer. Either you agree to be calm and follow me peacefully, or else you will leave the elevator now, and are free to do whatever you please. You only have another two minutes left, though. At the most," he added, shivering ever so slightly as he could feel the Dark Side storm build in intensity above them. 

Inyo shook her head, sending drops of blood flying from her wet hair. "Never!" she screamed, and tried to get at him again. 

This time he did not hold her back, and she scrambled for the opening, out into the darkness. He heard her scream all the way down. Closing his eyes in grief, Kane released the emergency brakes again and let the elevator carry him to the ground level. He exited the car on numb legs, not really noticing the flurry of activity taking place all around him. He was trying to convince himself that it had been better this way. Unbidden he thought of Zulkur Arden, a paralyzed raging warrior, whose only defense against his fate was revenge, and his own death. 

"Kane!"

Looking up, he gazed at Yanessa, who was standing just inside the entrance to the building.

"We gotta leave," he told her hoarsely. "Everyone has to evacuate the building right now. You have the data?"

She shook the cloak she still held in her left hand. "Yes. You look a mess," she commented at last, as he joined her.

"Everyone get out!" someone roared over the din of voices, and then a stocky human charged around the corner, still running. He must have run all the way down the stairs, Kane realized. "Out of here!" the man screamed. "Didn't you hear, you lazy Hutts? This building is a complete loss! Get out!"

He stopped briefly to throw Kane a scrutinizing glance. "You Kane Jinn?"

"Yes," he answered, nodding dumbly.

  
"Dex Halcyon. Pleased to meet you. Now get out."

They were only two miles away when the entire scyscraper imploded. It fell in on itself in a majestic shower of debris, and Kane thought he could see a bluish backwash that filled the structure just moments before it vanished in a billowing cloud of smoke and dust, burying Inyo Di'vitt underneath tons of rubble, and her precious virus with her. 

"What a show," Dex Halcyon commented coolly. Then he turned toward Kane, his green eyes inquisitive. "What are you gonna do now?"

"Go back to Coruscant," Kane replied quietly, his gaze still fixed on the destruction ahead. "See what I can do for Master Dycos."

"Well," the Jedi Master shrugged, "you still have the data. Perhaps you can make something of it. And perhaps he will agree to what you suggested."

Kane looked at him sharply. What he had suggested... That Hagen be purged of his power forever. "Would you?" he demanded heatedly, feeling desperate all of a sudden. How could he ever ask that of his master?

For a long time Dex Halcyon just gazed at him. Then he nodded. "Yes, son, I would. And he will too. He's a brave man, I know. Don't worry."

"Thank you." Exhaling slowly, Kane closed his eyes, before he turned toward Yanessa, who handed him his cloak.

"This is good-bye, then," she said.

He nodded. "Good-bye, yes, but not farewell." The smile that appeared on her face lit up his heart. She stepped forward quickly to embrace him, then pressed a kiss on his mouth.

"Good-bye," she whispered. 

Behind her, Dex Halcyon rolled his eyes in mock disgust. "Come on, you love-birds. We need to get Kane to the spaceport. At least _he_ won't have to deal with the paperwork this mess will cause," the Jedi Master added wrily.

Hagen Dycos was seated in his favorite spot, at his desk by the window, and his fingers were idly drumming on the desk top as he waited. He was gazing out over the city, not really thinking of anything. It was a quiet afternoon, sunny, and only a few clouds hung in the distance, promising some rain later this evening. In front of the Jedi Master a notepad and a writing stylus had been neatly placed next to one another, but not a single line had been written so far. He wanted to wait for Kane to complete his own findings first. 

When there was a knock at the door he twisted around in his seat and waited for a short moment before he called for the visitor to come in. As expected, it was Kane. The young man stepped into the room cautiously, his blue eyes suspicious. Enduring the other's scrutiny patiently, Hagen smiled. Finally Kane crossed the last few meters that separated them.

"Welcome back, Kane," the Jedi Master said softly. "I am glad you are well."

Kane placed a data box on top of the table, carefully pushing the notepad aside. But his gaze lingered on Hagen's face. "How about yourself?" he asked at last. "What about the – sickness?" Kane's eyes flickered to the wall behind Hagen, and the Jedi Master knew exactly what he was searching for. 

"The walking cane isn't really necessary any longer. I have put it back in my cupboard, where I hope it will remain for the next twenty years or so." He gave his former apprentice a wide grin.

"Then you're healed?"

"Yes." He nodded at the databox. "What is that? The data you found on the virus?"

"You know?"

"Master Halcyon called ahead."

Kane dropped into one of the unoccupied chairs, shoulders slumping. "You know," he repeated. Then he sought Hagen's eyes again. "How? 

"Can't you feel it?" the Jedi Master asked back, very quietly. 

The younger man inhaled sharply, then frowned. "I – I was about to suggest the same, just to be – on the safe side," he finished lamely. "You did this yourself?"

Hagen shook his head. "No. I asked a friend for help. An old friend," he added, emphasizing the word 'old'. He could see that Kane got it instantly. 

"Oh," he said. 

"He came to ask after something in the Library," Hagen continued. 

"Did he find it?"

The Jedi Master smiled, then leaned closer toward Kane. "He never even looked for it," he explained. "I realized that only after he had left again, when I went back to see where he had been searching. But he didn't take anything, Kane, he put something _into_ the Library."

"And he healed you."

Hagen grimaced painfully. "Don't remind me." Schooling his features again he gave Kane an encouraging nod. "And now, please tell me in detail what happened on Corellia."

"I did find Zulkur Arden, but he had been infected with the same virus that was ailing you. It was created by one Inyo Di'vitt –"

"I know. A former Sith slave, whose parents were killed at Ruusan."

"So he knew her?"

"Seems so. Go on."

Kane frowned ever so slightly. "Arden tried to combat the virus by using the Dark Side. It only seemed to intensify the symptoms."

"Yes. Apparently it is impossible to heal that virus with the aid of the Force."

Kane's frown deepened. "You do not seem overly depressed over the cure," he stated.

"Does it seem that way?" Hagen asked flippantly. "It hurt. Making that decision hurt a lot, more than the healing process, which wasn't very comfortable either. He is an excellent healer, but not very gentle."

"I knew you'd make the right choice," Kane sighed. "Though I regret your loss. I had hoped we might be able to salvage the data, since Inyo Di'vitt herself died, but I guess it is too late now..."

Hagen turned his head to gaze at the databox. "We will need to destroy it," he told Kane thoughtfully.

"Destroy it? But what if – "

"What if _what_?" The Jedi Master fixed his one-time apprentice in an icy glare. "Inyo Di'vitt is dead, her virus destroyed, and all the data is here. If we destroy it, Kane, no one will know, save you and I. And Master Halcyon"

  
"Zulkur Arden thought the same," Kane offered at length.

"Oh? And now you believe I might have turned darkside?"

"No, no! Of course not!" the younger man hurried to assure him. "It is just – "

"You do not trust his words, because of what he became, is that it? And you do not trust me either."

"I trust you," Kane confessed. "Your decision proves your insight. An yet. It feels – wrong to destroy the data."

Hagen gave a low chuckle. "Should some of my own passion for knowledge have rubbed off on you, Kane?"

"I just think this should not be forgotten. If, by chance, a similar virus is somehow developed, we will at least have some pointers and may come up with a real cure. One that doesn't require such a sacrifice. Imagine, if the virus had spread, and every afflicted Jedi had been cut off from the Force ... Easy prey," Kane finished in a whisper. 

"I didn't think of that," the Jedi Master admitted, suddenly even more thoughtful. Indeed, what would have happened, if Inyo had somehow been able to infect even more Jedi? A blood-bath, he suspected. He shuddered ever so slightly. "All right. A compromise." He gazed directly into Kane's blue eyes. "I will not allow this knowledge to get lost in time," he promised. "But no one must know, Kane. Not now."

"Why not now?"

"A feeling. A hunch, if you will. Please, just trust me on this."

Kane frowned again. "What _exactly_ did he leave in the Library? It is something to do with that, isn't it?"

"I see I cannot hide anything from you, my friend," Hagen sighed. "Yes, it has to do with what he left."

  
The younger man sat forward in his seat, eyes gleaming. "You have it here? What is it?"

"Answers," Hagen replied, then reached down to snatch up the holocube he had had hidden underneath the window-sill. "Or questions, depending on your point of view," he concluded. "This," he said, not without pride, "may hold the key to the future. Though it will require thorough research to determine just what lock that key will fit into."

  
"What is that?" Kane asked, sounding awed, as he nodded at the holocube. 

Hagen ran a hand lovingly over the smooth surface. "May I present to you, the last surviving copy of the Jen'da Prophecies." 

TBC


	3. Arguments

****

900 Years Later, Coruscant

"That must be the most foolish thing I have ever heard!" Alamys Jorka exclaimed, shaking his head in disgust. 

"Another reminder of your more than humble origins, Master Jorka. Perhaps you should dedicate your studies to more substantial matters, such as politics," his counterpart replied coolly. 

"I need not remind you that ambition and greed are part of the Dark Side," Alamys countered just as icily. "They are the very essence of politics."

"Without studying the Dark Side, Master Jorka, you will never be able to recognize and withstand it."

"No need for either," he answered haughtily. "Virtue will always be our best protection against the Dark Side."

"Believe you do, that virtuous enough you are, Master Jorka?" 

He turned his head abruptly and his blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he gazed at the tiny Jedi Master who was hovering at eye-level in his mobile seat. "Master Yoda. With all due respect, yes, I do believe that virtue is my shield. Whereas Count Dooku seems to believe that deception and manipulation will serve us best," he added, shooting his adversary a withering glare. 

The tall nobleman gave him a thin smile, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "My point, Master Yoda, was to show Master Jorka the futility of setting virtue above skill. A merely virtuous person will never be able to do good, whereas the skilled will prevail in any situation."

"Not exclude each other do virtue and skill," Master Yoda explained quietly. 

"But, Master Yoda, you will admit that pursuing virtue alone will blind against the vices others may employ skillfully against the virtuous," Dooku countered. 

"A riddle," Yoda replied. "Answer you both will. Master Jorka, grow stronger does a light in the dark than a speck of dark within a sea of white?"

"Of course it will shine brighter in darkness!" Alamys exclaimed, exasperated, then continued more calmly: "That is the very basis of the Jedi Order's existence, to be that flame within darkness. The black speck will stand out more prominently among the light, and will be found out instantly. It cannot stand against the light."

Yoda nodded sagely, then turned inquisitive green eyes on the Count. "Your answer?"

"That latter point is true for both situations. A light within darkness will be found out just as quickly as a speck of darkness within light. Both turn into targets for the respective opposite. The single flame will be extinguished, just as the single speck of dark. Their being different dooms them effectively."

"Then believe you do that doomed the Jedi are?" the small alien asked, gazing straight at Dooku.

"A mute point, Master Yoda," Alamys injected dismissively, "since the Jedi stand neither alone against a sea of darkness, nor do they face a single foe. This riddle is unrealistic."

"It is a _riddle_, Master Jorka," Dooku grated out. "And the Jedi are not that different from either light or dark."

"Unrealistic, maybe," Yoda admitted, and Alamys felt his own satisfaction at being proven right. "But for how long this current reality remain it will?" 

And with those words he steered clear of the two men, vanishing into the distance and around a corner. Dumb-founded, both Alamys and Dooku stood gazing after the retreating Jedi Master. Finally the spell broke, and both men threw one another a grim look, as if undecided whether their dispute was ended. But then Dooku nodded curtly and stalked off in the opposite direction Yoda had taken. 

For a moment Alamys stood motionless, pondering Yoda's last comment. But then he shook those thoughts off and frowned. So, Dooku thought that the Dark Side could only be understood and, more importantly, _withstood_, when studied properly. A dangerous statement, that. _Was_ he studying the Dark Side? And if so, what could he, Alamys Jorka, do about it?

Wandering toward the silence of his own quarters, Alamys was pondering the previous exchange more closely. It had been one of many, many disputes that had seen him locked in argument with the Count, whom he thought arrogant and self-possessed. A mutual observation, Alamys knew. They would never get along, no matter how much Master Yoda tried to mediate between them. They were too different, in origin as well as in their view of the Force and the role the Jedi Order was to play in the course of history. Dooku believed that the Jedi were too passive, that they were placidly following wherever the Supreme Chancellor led. Alamys did not think like that. The Jedi Order had always been subjected to the government, and that was well, since without that anchorage they would soon become a simile of their greatest enemies, the Sith. Those had been extinct for a millennium, ever since the fateful battle of Ruusan, but Alamys was well aware of the fact that the Sith had been Jedi once. He considered it the Order's duty to guard within as well as without. Which was why he kept a very close eye on whatever Count Dooku was doing. If the Count was truly studying the Dark Side, he would find out, and put an end to those studies. Definitely.

The ship was as alien to its surroundings as his master was to sobriety. Black and menacing, it squatted in the green meadow like an ugly beetle, marring the tender beauty of the spring blossoms that sprouted around its clawed landing struts. Suppressing a sigh, Darth Sidious walked closer to the ship, waiting for his master to acknowledge him. He had felt him approach hours ago, locked in a working circle that was supposed to solve the fishing rights for the western sea of Naboo. They always met in this meadow, and each time Sidious felt the same about the ship's presence. 

He was only three meters from the outer hull when the entry hatch was lowered to the ground, squashing a couple of rare Sunset Lilies. The Sith apprentice walked into the ship's belly unpertubed. His master was waiting for him in the small yacht's rec room, seated in one of the three chairs that had been fixed around a table, and as expected the smell of brandy was thick in the air. 

Dropping to one knee as was proper, Sidious lowered his head deferentially. "I live to serve, master," he intoned softly. He did. But the one he served was himself, no one else. 

"You always knew how to flatter those above you," Darth Nexus huffed, and a new gust of half-digested alcohol rolled toward the apprentice.

"Yes, master."

"So glad you agree." Hiccuping loudly, Nexus rose from his seat, looming over Sidious with his over two meter height and four hundred pound bulk. It was easy to take him for a drunk fool, all too easy. But behind those red piggy-eyes of his a sharp mind lurked incessantly, a cruel mind, that was quick to punish. A rare trait, in a Whiphid. "Get up." Sidious obeyed instantly, and kept his gaze on his master, radiating pure helpfulness. "How is that working circle proceeding."

"Not too well."  


"Excellent. Try to lock them down as long as you can. Bury them in bureaucracy. You're so good at that," Darth Nexus added acidly. "And, what is more, you will need to keep them occupied until you return."

"We are leaving, master? Where to?"

"Corellia. I have uncovered some interesing information about that planet. Here." He threw a datacard at the younger Sith. "Have a good look, apprentice. It will tell you something about what we will face."

"The Seed of Doom," Sidious read aloud. 

"I know what it says, boy. I want you to read it on the way. Now go and tell your pets that you will be leaving."

Sidious inclined his head demurely. "Yes, master, at once."

"Get out," Darth Nexus snarled, pointing at the hatch. Without another word, his apprentice left.

As he strolled back to the speeder he had parked half a mile away so as not to give the location away to all too nosy contenders, he was seething inward. It had been five years ago that he had been initiated as Sith apprentice, and he remembered most vividly how awed he had been at the sheer grandeur of the ceremony, the power his master commanded. It had been exactly as he had imagined. But now he felt that he and Nexus had reached an impasse, where the master was loath to teach more, knowing full well that his student had surpassed him already in all but name. Yet Sidious just _knew_ there was more to learn. So he had no choice but to obey, for now. Yet he longed for the day when he would be ready to be master. It would be soon, he hoped, very soon.


	4. Prospects

Dooku had vanished. He had simply left, telling no one where he was going. That in itself was not alarming, of course not, he was a free man, after all. But still, Alamys felt highly suspicious of the other's sudden departure. A few days had passed since their last argument and they had not debated since, both too busy to talk. Which was a relief, in Alamys' eyes. Now, though, he wished they _had_ talked, and he would perhaps now have a lead on where the Count had vanished to. It was never good to lose track of a potential enemy. A calculating expression appeared on the Jedi Master's face as he pondered his options. Perhaps there was still someone who might know more of Dooku's plans. 

Alamys stalked down the hallway of the Masters' Quarters and went down the stairs to the next floor, where the Knights were housed. A quick search found his quarry. Knocking at the door, he waited patiently for the other to open. A young human, dark blond hair worn in a long braid at the nape of his neck, deeply set blue eyes inquisitive, finally dragged the door open. 

"Master Jorka," he said reservedly. "An honor. Please, come in."

"Thank you, Knight Jinn, but actually I have a request."

Qui-Gon Jinn gave him a questioning glance. "Please, go ahead. I hope that I can help you."

"I am certain of that," Alamys answered benvolently. "You see, it has been some time since I was last called away from Coruscant for duty, and I am a bit anxious over losing my edge when I stay idle for too long. The practice droids simply do not meet my standards." He raised his brows meaningfully. "I heard that you are accounted the best swordsman of your generation. Perhaps you would honor me with a practice duel?"

Jinn bowed respectfully. "The honor is all mine, Master Jorka."

"Good. Then let's go."

Alamys Jorka's duty within the Order was that of a battle expert and tactician. He was called upon when the Republic was experiencing troubles with minor local skirmishes, and Alamys would be the one who would accompany a mediator to the scene, to back diplomacy up with emergency plans on evacuation of civilians, the most effective pressure points and so on. In fact, he had acquired such a reputation that his mere presence could serve to subdue a minor rebellion and turn it into peaceful negotiations. Alamys was also deemed one of the best swordsmen the Order had ever seen, a reputation he shared with Dooku, and a few others, including Master Yoda.

All that had to be going through Qui-Gon Jinn's head as he followed the Jedi Master to one of the gyms reserved for lightsaber practice. Keeping a close watch over his companion, Alamys found that he could detect a slight hint of apprehension and guilt. The youngest of seven siblings, Alamys had learned very early on how to read the mood surrounding him, even before he had been brought to Coruscant for training, a four-year-old farmer's son hailing from Tyreena. In the thirty years he had spent with the Order so far, Alamys had only returned to his homeplanet once, to attend his father's funeral. He was a stranger there now, and home was Coruscant.

"No practice blades, Knight Jinn," he said quietly, when Qui-Gon had shrugged out of his cloak and moved to take up one of the leather-bound staves used for exercise. "Do not worry. I will take care not to hurt you, or get hurt _by_ you," he added, a rare smile lighting up his hard face.

Qui-Gon shrugged again, then detached his lightsaber handle from his belt. "I am ready when you are, Master Jorka."

"Excellent."

As student of Count Dooku, Qui-Gon Jinn would certainly be a good match for Alamys' fencing abilities, but his reputation would distract the younger man, allowing the Jedi Master to focus Jinn's concentration on the duel, while he probed both with questions and the Force. Taking up the classic guard position, Alamys nodded, and Qui-Gon attacked at once, a test of his opponent's reflexes no more, and easily thwarted. Alamys did not bother with tests. Bringing his lightsaber down one-handed, he forced Jinn to retreat, then took the handle in both hands and brought the blade around in a powerful vertical slash, a combination that was delivered with quick, precise movements. Jinn retreated a few steps more, trying to gather his defense. 

"Watch your feet," the Jedi Master told the younger man calmly. "So. I hear you passed the trials without difficulty."  


"No more than expected," Jinn replied, frowning in concentration, before he took a sliding step forward, feinting a direct attack, then pivoted on one heel and stabbed at Alamys' right flank. 

Alamys blocked that one by whirling around, his back toward his adversary, and hammering his blade down hard on the other's weapon, only a hand-breadth from Jinn's own hand. "I am glad." 

Jinn stumbled for a moment, but caught himself again to thrust upward, driving Alamys back. "But I can see you are going to make this exercise difficult," he grated out, prompting Alamys to smile.

"You have plans for your future, Knight Jinn?"

"Teaching," the other replied, trying another feint.

Alamys brought his lightsaber around, a high block again, his favorite stance. "I would have thought you would be joining Count Dooku in his own missions. The two of you make an excellent team."

"He would not take me with him."

"A pity."

Suddenly Jinn started a quick barrage of short jabs, that were designed to push Alamys into the defensive, and aimed at throwing him off balance, to deliver a more dangerous blow in the end. Instead of retreating, though, Alamys stepped toward Jinn purposefully, narrowing the other's range even more, and thus breaking into the inner circle of defense. The only escape for Jinn now was to retreat himself and fend off his opponent with wider slashes.

"Of course," Alamys began anew, "if he has personal business to attend to, he would not want you with him."  


"Personal business?" Qui-Gon asked, startled. "I do not know anything about that." 

And that was very true, Alamys could feel it, and the note seemed to disturb the younger man somehow. "His studies," Alamys pressed on, bringing his lightsaber around in a leisured arc. "I doubt he would want you to know." The flash of guilt from Qui-Gon was unmistakable. Triumphant, Alamys stopped his blade on the reverse and drew it back, just as Jinn lunged forward to meet it with his own weapon. He stumbled straight into Alamys' side kick, and fell to his knees with a loud gasp.

"You never meant this to be an excercise," he accused the Jedi Master, his blue eyes almost sad. "You only wanted information."

"That is not quite true, Knight Jinn," Alamys countered coolly, as he deactivated his blade. "One has to be ever vigilant in the fight against darkness, and vigilance includes knowing a potential enemy's strengths and weaknesses."

Leaving Jinn on his knees, eyes bulging at the thinly veiled insult, Alamys stalked toward the exit and snatched up his own cloak, that he had left on one of the benches. But when he stepped outside a movement at the corner to the hallway caught his attention. "Master Yoda," he said. "You have been watching?"

The tiny Jedi Master nodded gravely. "Watch I did, and see I did a lot. Punish you should not Qui-Gon Jinn for the emnities that harbor you do toward Count Dooku."

"With all due respect," the Jedi Master countered, not caring at all whether Jinn could hear him, "I am used to expecting the unexpected. Qui-Gon Jinn's master is a dangerous man, with dangerous views. He should not be left unobserved, and neither should his students."

"Set in your views you are, Master Jorka. But remember you should this," Yoda explained quietly, "A matter of perspective virtue is. A vice it can become all too soon."

Alamys nodded sharply. "Yes, Master Yoda. That is very true. I will see to it that it will not come to that."

They were en route to Corellia, a five day trip from Naboo, and Darth Sidious had been dilligently studying the report his master had given him. The report had been made by a woman named Alya Maaren, a Sith apprentice, over nine hundred years ago. Apparently she had been apprenticed to Soniva Darval, and that name Sidious knew very well. Soniva Darval, Darth Marr, had been the apprentice of Darth Bane, founder of the new Sith Order Sidious himself belonged to. She had reportedly been quite ferocious in her youth, but that had seemingly changed from one day to the other. According to the report Darth Marr had assisted a scientist by the name of Inyo Di'vitt, a former Sith slave, to develop a deadly virus, the Seed of Doom, or Motha Virus. 

The Motha Virus had been designed specifically to target Force-users, Jedi in particular. Yet it had never been set into practice fully. There had apparently been two experiments, one conducted on a Jedi named Zulkur Arden, the other on the Jedi Master Hagen Dycos. Dycos was also known to Sidious, who had studied the scholar's historical works with greatest interest, when he had still dreamed of becoming a Jedi one day. He had been very young then, and, in a way, it was due to Hagen Dycos that he had decided to become something else entirely. Inyo Di'vitt had been based on Corellia, but her experiments had been cut short by what appeared to have been an accident, according to official sources. But Sidious could not quite believe that an accident could have made a skyscraper blow up. 

In fact, though the report did not mention it directly, the 'accident' seemed to have been a throwback in Di'vitt's experiments, since apparently it had been Zulkur Arden who had caused the destruction of her laboratories, along with the scienist's death. Hagen Dycos, Sidious knew, had died in the Welmayan Civil War at age sixty. There had never been any reports about any strange behavior on Dycos' part, prompting Sidious to believe that the experiment had not succeeded with the Jedi Master. Strange, that. Looking up from his reading he threw a pensive look at his master, who was snoring in one of the chairs. He was drunk again, and probably not inclined to answer questions. Nevertheless Sidious rose and took a look at what Nexus had been studying. A piece of news, printed out on flimsiplast. 

"Female body found on construction premises," the headline read. Intrigued, Sidious read on. "During construction works on a former dump at the city limits of Coronet, workers uncovered the remains of a female human body. Scientists found that due to the chemical fumes and layers of morass on the site the body has been preserved over a long time. Which means this lady has been lying there for over the past nine hundred years! Identifying the body will be impossible, scientists claim." Sidious inhaled sharply and smiled. Oh, he could identify the body all right. The fact that Nexus had read this particular item meant that he suspected these remains to belong to Doctor Inyo Di'vitt. 

Suddenly Darth Nexus came awake with a grunt, and his malicious piggy-eyes immediately latched onto his apprentice. "What are you doing there!" he roared, aiming a slap at Sidious' head. The young man ducked out of the way as politely as he could. 

"Forgive my curiosity, master," he began, "I merely meant to complete the information given by Alya Maaren's report."

"Fine," Nexus growled. "And what does this tell you?" He grabbed the flimsiplast and gave it a disgruntled stare.

"That these workers have found Inyo Di'vitt's body and that we are going to Corellia to retrieve it. But master, for what purpose?" 

Darth Nexus gazed at him dispassionately. "I thought you were a well-read boy, Sidious," the Whiphid snarled. "Have you ever read the Jedi Chronicles by Jedi Master Hagen Dycos?"

"Of course."  


"Then you may remember on of the last chapters, where he describes the Motha Virus and its effects."

"He does?" Sidious asked, taken aback. He couldn't remember having read anything like that. 

Nexus smiled. "It is not clear what he refers to, and knowing that he himself was infected, it is understandable that he only sticks to hints, but he writes there that Inyo Di'vitt accidentially was also infected by her own virus."

"He wrote all that?"  
  
"Yes, apprentice, he did. You should show more enthusiasm for the natural sciences, you know? They could be the key to the future."

Sidious nodded slowly. "And now you want to extract the virus from her remains, is that so?"

"Exactly! Well done, Sidious." Nexus clapped his huge hands deliberately slow, to show his contempt, as if that were necessary, with what Sidious could sense. "Since dear Master Dycos kept this so secret, we can have some leeway when using the virus for our own ends. Perhaps," and here his small eyes took on a fervent gleam, "we may even find a way to infect the Force itself."  


"Forgive me, master, for asking so stupidly, but wouldn't that also bar us from using the Force?"

"Sidious!" Darth Nexus exclaimed. "You are a fool! Why should darkness bar us from using darkness? On the contrary! This would only increase our power! Imagine the possibilities!" 

"Yes, master," the apprentice murmured, lowering his head demurely as he spoke. He could imagine the possibilities very well. Smiling, he gave another nod. 


	5. First Encounters

Fortunately Head Librarian Jocasta Nue kept records on what books and resources had been used by which readers, and with some convincing Alamys managed to get her to hand the records of Count Dooku's library visits over to him. Now the Jedi Master had retreated into one of the reading booths, concentrating on the report in front of him. He quickly found what he had been looking for. Four months ago Dooku had borrowed a volume of the 'Collected Works of Jed Master Hagen Dycos' and returned it only two weeks ago. The volume was titled 'A Study of Ancient Sith Culture', a piece that had almost cost Dycos his head, or so it was said. 

Nodding to himself pensively, Alamys walked over to Section B-D to go look for the volume and noticed that the space next to Dycos' Collected Works was empty. He frowned at that and vowed to ask Jocasta Nue about that missing piece. Nevertheless he took one volume after the other out of the shelf and studied each one closely. It took him the entire rest of the day and most of the following night. Jocasta let him stay, knowing full well that Alamys Jorka would be the least likely person to steal anything. But before she went to retreat to her own quarters she came by to place the key card to the library in front of him on the desk.

"Be so good and lock the library once you are finished," she said. "That is, if you do not mean to stay all through the night."

Alamys gave her a faint smile. "No, I do not think I will take quite that long. Thank you anyway." He hesitated. "Ah, yes. There was another question I had. Next to this collection, what volume does usually occupy that space?" 

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Hm. There are the Comparative Studies of Universal Religions on one side, and some prophecies on the other."  


"Then the prophecies have been borrowed out, right?"

"I will check for you, just a moment." When she came back Alamys was waiting apprehensively. "Yes, indeed. Count Dooku borrowed them. He has not returned them yet."

__

And he wouldn't in the near future, either. Alamys nodded solemnly. "I see. Thank you again"

"I will leave you to your studies, Master Jorka." 

He did not watch her leave. Hagen Dycos had had quite an eventful life. Apparently he had been indirectly involved in the battle of Ruusan as a Padawan. With rising curiosity Alamys noted that a specific holocron was mentioned time and again as reference for some of the reports in the Sith History volume. Wandering over to the library section that housed the holocrons, Alamys found the door locked. Then he remembered the key card Jocasta had left with him and found that it fit perfectly. Good. The holocron he sought had been fabricated by one Master Jeldo, a Ho'Din, and Alamys found it quickly. A neat design, very beautiful. The Jedi Master took it back to his desk and continued reading, using Master Jeldo's holocron in his quest to find out what exactly Hagen Dycos had been trying to tell the world with the Study on Ancient Sith History. 

Three hours later he left Coruscant, destined for Corellia.

It was a short flight, fortunately, for Alamys knew there was no time to lose. When there was danger one could not simply wait for disaster to strike, one had to eliminate the threat immediately. Though, as a Jedi, Alamys had been cautioned over and over again not to succumb to rash action, he prided himself of knowing exactly what action to take and what effect it would have. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge, the Jedi Code stated, and it was so true. The Force could be used to determine the right approach to matters, though to make full use of that particular aspect of the Force one needed a knack for being able to distinguish between different moods, to eliminate the wrong from the right, the hasty, suspicious and uncertain from the true and confident. Alamys had always been good at that. His mind was a finely tuned instrument that could interpret and evaluate emotions pitch perfect, as he had proven time and again. 

While reading Hagen Dycos' notes and reports, and consulting the holocron as he went along, Alamys had felt danger and urgency in abundance. It had made his skin itch, it had been so strong. Frantically he had sought the lock into which the key Dycos had provided could fit. Then he had come across a seemingly unimportant passage that Dycos had nocthed down in hurried writing next to a citation from another source, a philosophical debate of sorts. _If the Force binds all creatures into one, then the Force is a reflection of all, _the Jedi Master had written. _If the Force is a reflection of all, then all is a reflection of the Force. This clearly is the basis of the Jedi Order's creed of protecting life. This means that if all is ailed by illness the Force will also be ailing. And yet, if we were to apply the principle of balance, then the Force would supply a source of healing, a cure, for the illness, just as all would provide a cure if the Forc were somehow infected with illness. Is it possible to infect the Force itself? Only through infecting all would that be possible. Unless – _

Here the notes broke off, as if Hagen Dycos had suddenly thought of something else and not bothered to write the conclusion to his previous thought. It riled Alamys somewhat that the scholar had been so sloppy. If one began a sentence one should end it too. Anything less was inacceptable. Yet the passage itself had chilled him to the bone. Especially considering the hints Dycos had left on a virus of sorts, the Motha Virus. If Alamys had interpreted the information correctly Hagen Dycos had been infected too, but had somehow been able to heal himself. How, he did not say. The prospect of the Force somehow being infected by darkness, the way the Motha Virus infected the victim with paranoia and other symptoms that would inevitably lead to the Dark Side, this was a horrifying vision. 

Which was why he now was on his way to Corellia to find the last traces of the virus and its creator, Doctor Inyo Di'vitt. He had found a snippet of recent news on the Holonet, about a body found on a construction site in Coronet. Apparently the scientists which had examined the human remains had determined the corpse's age to nine hundred years or more. It was a female human, which also pointed toward the almost impossible, that this were the remains of Inyo Di'vitt. But Alamys had another source he might use to confirm his findings. He had stumbled over the name Kane Jinn while studying Hagen Dycos' life, and he had been surprised to find that Kane Jinn had been Dycos' apprentice, though he already had attained the rank of Jedi Knight at the time his former master had been infected with the virus. Yet Hagen Dycos had not taken on another apprentice until his death five years after that incident. Chances were that he had confided in Kane Jinn. 

Further research had yielded some interesting information on that particular Jedi Knight. Apparently Kane Jinn had left the Order after the birth of his illegitimate son, Jonell, to go to Corellia and marry the child's mother, a woman named Yanessa Bryar. It would have been too much of a conicidence to assume that Kane Jinn was an ancestor of Qui-Gon Jinn, but Alamys seldomly dismissed a coincidence. They proved right far too often for his taste. Qui-Gon Jinn was not Corellian, he knew, but perhaps something had survived there, perhaps Kane Jinn had left his own thoughts on the Motha Virus somewhere with his family. No living relative had remained on Corellia, Alamys had found out, the last of that line, apparently, a woman named Kathey Gorval-Jinn, had died over ninety years ago. But another Jedi line had survived. That of Leevar Halcyon, a Corellian Jedi. Like most Corellian Jedi Halcyon preferred to operate in Corellian space, and an ancestor of his had been active on Corellia at the time Inyo Di'vitt had tested the Motha Virus.

Leevar Halcyon worked with CorSec sometimes, and with any luck he would have access to the corpse. If the body proved to be that of Inyo Di'vitt, Alamys would take it back to Coruscant with him to have it examined thoroughly by the Republic's best scientists. Perhaps that way the could isolate the virus Inyo Di'vitt had accidentially infected herself with – a fact also found in Dycos' report – and perhaps they could find a cure for it. It never occurred to Alamys that it would be far more efficient to destroy the body, destroy every single cell. That revelation would come only much, much later. 

It was very early in the morning when the door-bell of the Halcyon homestead starting ringing like mad. Sleepy-eyed, Leevar Halcyon came awake, and on cue the baby in the other room started crying. The Corellian Jedi fell back on a short exercise to clear his mind of the residues of sleep, then gently motioned for his wife to settle back down in the couple's bed.

"It's oky, honey, I'll take this," he said soothingly, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed and walked to the door, where he grabbed a robe and shrugged into it. On his way down the hallway he peeked into the baby's bedroom and and smiled at the little body who had stood up in his bed, gazing at his father out of huge eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Neeja," Leevar Halcyon murmured, sending calming thoughts at the baby boy, who settled down again and sighed as he fell asleep again. 

Finally, running a hand through his dark hair, the Jedi Knight went down the staircase and down into the corridor that led to either the front door or the living room. He had already sensed the visitor's presence, and though he did not know him, he knew what he was. The fact that another Jedi Knight dropped in unannounced at this time of day meant trouble for sure. Leevar opened the door and nodded at the man standing outside. The newcomer was head and shoulders taller than Leevar, blond, with a hard face and piercing blue eyes.

"My name is Alamys Jorka," the stranger, began, in a deep baritone voice. "Allow me to apologize for this untimely and unannounced intrusion, but it is very urgent."

"Why don't you come in before you spill your heart out on the sidewalk?" Leevar asked a bit gruffly and suppressed a yawn. 

The other Jedi gave him an odd look, then entered. "Why, thank you. Very generous.."

Leevar lead the visitor into the living-room and bade him to sit down. "So, what is so urgent?"

"Have you ever heard of the Motha Virus?" Alamys Jorka asked straight out, leaning forward a bit, his gaze inquisitive. 

"I – " Leevar hesitated, shook his head. "Forgive me, it is just that I remember that from a story my father used to tell me when I was little. He said it was a tue story, but to me it always was no more than a grand tale about the Jedi of old."

"Hagen Dycos and Kane Jinn, do these names ring a bell?"

"You surely know how to ask questions," Leevar replied wrily. "And here I thought _I_ was the investigator."

Jorka shook his head earnestly. "As I already said, this is important and urgent. You have heard of them?"

"Well, Hagen Dycos was one of the greatest scholars the Jedi Order ever had, and Kane Jinn, well, can't say that name means anything to me apart from that being the name of the Jedi featured in that story I told you about."

"Hagen Dycos was infected with the Motha Virus," Jorka said almost on top of him, "and Kane Jinn was his apprentice."

"If you already know everything, why come to me?"

"I merely wish to demonstrate to you the importance of my visit. A body has been found recently on a construction site, a female human. A corpse, nine hundred years old."

Leevar's eyes widened in disbelief. "Oh no! Surely not! You don't mean to imply that this body is that of the scientist who designed the virus?"

"I need to make sure. The official lanes take too much time, and as CorSec member you could authorize me to transfer the body to Coruscant for an autopsy and thorough examination."

The Corellian gave the other Jedi a grim nod. "I see. Though you don't really have solid evidence, do you?"

Alamys Jorka smiled thinly. "I have the Force. Tests will confirm the rest."

"I don't think it can hurt anyone for me to authorize that transfer. Coruscant will want to lay its hands on the body soon enough, for historical research, no doubt." He rose again. "But first, let me put on some decent clothes."

For the first time ever since he had come into the Halcyon family's house Alamys Jorka smiled for real. "Thank you," he said, obviously relieved. "I appreciate it."

Alamys waited down in the living-room, patiently looking around the room. It was pleasant and homely, and looked lived-in. He noticed toys lying in one corner, neatly stacked in a heap that told him that a child had brought some order into that chaos of playthings. Suddenly he felt a slight twinge of guilt. If he was right, if Dooku really had his own plans concerning the virus, then this mission could turn out to become very dangerous. He should not endanger a father this way. Perhaps Halcyon could simply make a call, or something. A movement at the door that led to the hallway caught his attention, and he smiled at the little boy standing there, thumb tucked into his mouth, a pensive look in his eyes. He could not be older than two. 

Then the sound of someone pounding down the stairs filled the house, and Leevar Halcyon appeared, grinned down at the boy and picked him up from the floor. "You should be asleep already, Neeja. Guess you wanted to take a look at our visitor, right?" The smile he gave first the child and then the Jedi Master was one of utmost pride and joy. 

"You are raising him here?" Alamys asked suddenly, his tone disapproving.

"Of course." Halcyon shrugged. "I don't have much truck with that stuff about avoiding committment to anything else but the Order. A child should grow up with his parents, is what I think, and we do things differently here on Corellia, as I am sure you have heard," he added with a wink, taking the sting out of the rebuke. 

"That I have," Alamys conceded. "I cannot say I approve of it, though."

A woman appeared behind Leevar Halcyon, dressed in a morning-robe, her tousled dark hair and sleepy eyes visible over his shoulder. She reached out for the baby-boy and nodded mutely before she carried the child back up the stairs. 

Halcyon turned back to face Alamys again. He had donned a pale blue tunic over dark blue pants, with a black belt holding the tunic closed in the front, reminiscent of the traditional Jedi garb, yet different enought not to draw immediate attention to the wearer's identity. "I take it you were not raised in your family?" he asked, and motioned for the Jedi Master to join him in the hallway.

"No," Alamys replied calmly, "I left Tyreena when I was four years old."

"Tyreena, huh? Is it true that the sun of the planet is blue?" 

Alamys nodded earnestly. "Yes. I was named for that sun, Alamar. It is a bright, pale blue. The other one is bright yellow."

"So no moon?"

"No moon. Our nights are all blue, and all bright."

"Sounds like a treat. Do you miss it sometimes?" Once Alamys had stepped into the hallway the two men walked toward the door and left the house.

"My home is Coruscant now," the Jedi Master explained. "Still, there is something you should know. For the sake of your family. This could be very dangerous."

"Listen, Corellia is not exactly the most peaceful spot in this fair galaxy, and I know my way around danger. Probably more than you do," Halcyon retorted sharply. "My family knows that danger is part of my job."  


"Does your son?"

"All I am doing for you is ease your trouble with officials. That's all, and then I am out of this. Where's the danger?" Halcyon led him over to the family home's garage, but Alamys pointed at the speeder he had rented at the spaceport. 

"We'll take mine. No traces to get back to you."

"Oh. That dangerous, eh?" The Corellian's brows arched mockingly. "What is this about? I thought you were just going to escort a corpse back to Coruscant."  


"I may not be the only one who is after that body," Alamys said as he settled into the open speeder's driver's seat and Halcyon joined him. "I have reason to assume that certain dark forces might also have a stake in this 'archeological' find. And the less you know about that the better."

"I see," the other Jedi answered thoughtfully. "I dearly hope you are wrong about that. I really do."

Halcyon directed him to the local morgue of Coronet, where they were waved through without difficulty. After having deposited the speeder in the open courtyard, the two Jedi made their way into one of the buildings, labeled 'Forensic Department'. Halcyon obviously was no stranger here, and they were greeted by quite a few individuals on their way to the office of one Sergeant May Calvar.

"She's a bit peculiar," Leevar Halcyon whispered out of the corner of his mouthas they finally stood in front of the office door. "Don't be offended."  


"Never," Alamys promised, suddenly feeling curious. 

The door buzzed open and both men entered. May Calvar was clearly no orderly person. Her office was stacked with folders and stacks of flimsiplast, tranparplast containers that held strange organic matters Alamys didn't even bother to look at closely. The woman herself, a short, middle-aged human had blockaded herself behind her desk. 

"May!" Leevar called out gently. "Look who's come for a visit!"

"This sounds like that nasty street thug who used to hang around here last summer," she replied in a grating unpleasant voice. Looking up from her desk she peeked over another heap of folders and straightened a pair of microscope glasses that made her eyes look like oversized blue flowers. She smiled. "And you've brought a friend. How nice." 

May rose from her seat and came around the desk quickly, making a beeline for Alamys. She was very short, barely reaching his breastbone, a plump woman with lanky brown hair and pale, unhealthy–looking skin. He took her offered hand graciously and even managed a rare smile. 

"A pleasure to meet you, Sergeant," the Jedi Master offered. She was positively beaming at him. Unfortunately he could sense all too well what exactly she was thinking about him. 

"Oh, you are even prettier than that mercenary we had in here last week! I love tall, blond men!" she piped up, clapping her hands in childish joy. 

Leevar harrumphed discreetly. "Well, this one doesn't have a hole through his chest. May, we came because of that body your guys found on the construction site at the old city dump."  


"Oh, her," the sergeant said dismissively. "She's over in science department. I'll accompany you," she added, throwing another smile at Alamys. She even tried to hook her arm around his elbow when they left, but he managed to bow out of that graciously, by quickly walking around Leevar, who in turn did not seem to mind May's company. "A great mystery, that," she chatted on. "Supposedly the girl died over nine hundred years ago. Of course the site has been disturbed over the years, but she was buried underneath a load of rubble. Her neck was snapped, back broken. The guys are trying to determine whether it was accident or murder that killed her."

"Do you have a name for her already?" Leevar asked casually.

May giggled. "The Lady in Black," she explained. "That's what she wore, and, of course, the color her skin has turned over the centuries."

"Charming, "Alamys muttered under his breath.

"Yes, I think so too," May replied enthusiastically. Apparently her hearing was excellent. "There we are," she announced suddenly, and opened another door, that led into a white-tiled laboratory of sorts. On metal biers two bodies had been laid out, one obviously that of the Lady. A dark-skinned human male was bent over the body, extracting something tiny from her blackened skin. Alamys squinted at the object the scientist held between slender pincers, and thought he recognized a glass fragment.

Leevar nudged his arm gently, nodding in the direction Alamys had been looking. "That's her for sure," he whispered. "I remember from the story," the Corellian added with a shrug. "Glass splinters."

Walking a bit closer, the Jedi Master nodded at the scientist shortly. "Good morning. I am Alamys Jorka. That is your great find from the city dump?"  


"Yes, Master Jedi. I am Doctor Vandale," the man replied and lifted his gloved hands apologetically. "Sorry for being rude, but we have to stick to certain hygenic measures, you see?"

"Of course. I quite understand. May I?" 

Vandale shrugged, then nodded, allowing Alamys to bend over the body to examine her face more closely. There were more glass fragments embedded there. The black color and quality of the skin pointed toward a fire or another source of great heat that had surrounded her after her death for at least a short while. The imploding tower, no doubt. What was more, though, was the barely perceptible hint of darkness that lingered with the corpse. Raising his head again, Alamys gazed straight at Leevar across the body. The other Jedi nodded in confirmation. He had felt it too, undoubtedly. Very carefully, Alamys delved deeper into this darkness, searching for emotional residues. What he found was determination and cold anger, no fear at all. Then he extended his right hand above the body, to search for any physical memories, but there was only a faint echo of pain. 

"She was dead before the fire reached her," he declared at last. "Whoever caused that fire did so in cold blood. I cannot say whether that same person killed her."

Vandale smiled widely. "Wow! I guess, if I were a Jedi, I could spare myself those cutting-up sessions. You can tell all that just by – searching here?"

"Mostly," Alamys conceded. "But I have also some different sources that fit with what I can see and sense here. Doctor Vandale, I would like to take this body back to Coruscant with me, for further research," he added, looking straight into the doctor's eyes, who did not manage to hold that piercing gaze for long. "Knight Halcyon here will vouch for me," the Jedi Master continued. "I need to get back to Coruscant as fast as possible."

"Oh! You can't just come here and take all our bodies!" May protested, pouting. It did not help to improve her looks at all, though. She had propped her hands on her ample hips for emphasize, but Alamys merely looked at her before he returned his attention to Vandale. 

"Would that be possible?"

The doctor shrugged again. "I suppose – if Leevar can vouch for you..."

"Then that's settled. I will be expecting the body prepared for transport in three hours at the space port. The dock master will provide the delivery team with the location of my ship." He gave Valdane a last nod. "Thank you, Doctor. Very generous of you. Come," he told Leevar as he turned to leave. Together they left the laboratory.

"Why three hours? What are you planning to do?" Leevar asked suspiciously.

"They'll need some time to pack her up," Alamys explained, "and I want to make sure I don't get any nasty surprises on my way home."  


"The 'dark forces' you spoke about earlier?" the Corellian asked quietly. 

"The same. So," Alamys said with a smile turning his head to look down at Halcyon, "this is were we part. I must thank you too, for your support."

Leevar gave him a thoughtful look. "You claim this might be dangerous. You sure you can do this without some backup?"

"I am sure," Alamys replied. "I can handle this easily. You just go back home to your family. From here on, I am on my own."

The Corellian shrugged. "It's your life, I guess. All right. Then all that's left is farewell. Be careful, though."

"Always."

The spaceport of Coronet was always busy, and Sidious felt right at home in crowds. Following Darth Nexus, he studied the passing faces attentively. He did not know how his master supposed to find the Jedi, but he trusted the Whiphid to know what he was doing while sober. And sober Nexus was, and just as ill-tempered. 

"Get out of the way," he roared at an unfortunate man who wasn't quick enough to make room, before he sent him reeling into the other passerbys. 

Sidious winced inwardly. Luckily, though, that outburst did not earn them more than a few disturbed looks and contemptuous sneers. Yet Sidious' mood darkened still. Ever since he had first joined Darth Nexus he had been put off by the alien's brash and overbearing attitude, that was complemented by the Whiphid's incompetence on quite a few levels. If this was what the Sith Order had come to it was surely time for a new generation to take over, Sidious thought quite often. And yet, his master was shrewd in his own way, he knew. Unfortunately.

It was noon on Corellia, and the cafés dotting the major boulevards were filled with tourists and clerks and what-not. Sidious watched them intently as the cab carrying the two Sith Lords into the city center drove by. They all seemed so very unconcerned about what was going on behind the closed doors of government buildings, in the shadow realms of crime organizations. Blissfully ignorant, conveniently so. And yet, somewhere there was something lurking in the background, like an itch Sidious could feel between his shoulderblades. He wondered whether Nexus had felt it too.

"Our contact is May Calvar," the Whiphid said suddenly. "She will hand the remains over to us. I called ahead before we even entered the system."

Sidious nodded obediently, but said nothing, waiting for his master to continue, but Nexus kept silent. His facial expression belied the strain he was feeling, but Sidious had not idea what was bothering him so. And he did not dare ask here in this cab, even though the driver was a droid. One never did know who bugged which cabs. The cab drew into a narrow driveway, a motel of sorts, Sidous saw, and apparently their base of operations to be. 

"Wait for me here," Nexus ordered his apprentice. "I will go and talk to the Calvar woman."

"Yes, master, of course," Sidious replied smoothly and hurriedly exited the cab, which swerved back out into the street instantly, leaving him standing between a dirty courtyard and the sidewalk, which was marginally cleaner. Well, he could make arrangements for lodgings later too. But first he should have a look around and perhaps he could determine what exactly was causing his uneasiness. 

Moving out into the street, hood drawn deep into his face, the Sith apprentice started back toward the boulevard where he had seen all those cafés. Maybe people would be willing to talk, and perhaps a rumour or two would prove worthwhile. At the same time he kept a constant watch over the fellow passerbys, and one presence coming down the street his way was hard to ignore. Cautiously he risked a glance up as the presence passed him. A tall man, probably human, his face hidden too, inside the cowl of a brown Jedi cloak. A Jedi. Here. Promptly, Sidious turned to follow the man, shielding his own presence as best he could. This could be no coincidence.

Alamys Jorka had noticed the cab bearing two robed figures even as he had walked out onto the great boulevard from one of the alleyways. He had seen the cab draw up to a motel, one of the figures disembark, and he had immediately decided to test his suspicions concerning those two. If Dooku was here, he would be looking for the body. His research would lead him to the morgue, to May Calvar and eventually to Doctor Valdane. He would know that Inyo Di'vitt's remains would be transferred to the port, and he would try to prevent that from happening. But Alamys knew perfectly well that staying in the morgue would not have been very helpful either. He needed to catch the count red-handed. 

Well, the black-robed man who had exited the cab previously and now stepped out into the street certainly was not Dooku, he was too short for that. Perhaps he was just harmless, just as his companion in the cab, and perhaps he wasn't. Walking past the man, Alamys remembered a small imbiss he had seen on his way to the boulevard. He made his way back there, through the smaller alleyways a bit off from the main boulevards, and yes, the black-robed man was still following. _Amateur_, Alamys thought. That man was certainly not used to stalking someone. When he had reached the imbiss, Alamys went in and sat down at one of the tables. He ordered a light lunch and waited. 

His stalker waited twenty minutes before he followed inside. Choosing a table far away from Alamys, he also sat down and ordered something. Smiling to himself, the Jedi Master resolved to enjoy his meal. An hour later he was finished and rose to pay. He noticed that the black-robed man had not eaten anything of the food laid out on his table. Alamys gave the head-waiter a friendly nod, then turned to leave. 

The Jedi had entered a small imbiss and ordered lunch, forcing Sidious to do the same. Sitting in the far corner, the Sith was watching his quarry intently, and was satisfied to see that the Jedi had seemingly taken no notice of him at all. Good. When the Jedi shrugged out of his cloak, apparently prepared to settle down for a while in this small restaurant, Sidious got a first glimpse at the man. His blond hair, slightly curly, was cut short, and his lean face was hard and cold. Piercing blue eyes studied the other patrons seated in his direct line of sight closely, and all in all he seemed to know exactly what he was about. A master, then most probably. Sidious felt a jolt of excitement then. A Jedi Master. Wow. A worthy enemy, no doubt. 

The waiter came over to ask for his order and Sidious sent him off to get Menu Two without even bothering to look what it was. As it turned out it was Narkatha Soup with spices and a salad of local greens drowned in a fat sauce. Both the soup and the sauce smelled like someone had already eaten it. Wrinkling his nose in disgust Sidious resolved to leave the food alone. He was not hungry anyway. An hour passed, during which he contemplated the value of patience. Oh, yes. A very valuable trait. Especially in times like these. For a while the Sith amused himself with watching the other patrons. Miserable existences, all of them. Then the Jedi rose to pay. He walked over to the head-waiter, then toward the door. Sidious carefully stood too and made to leave, when the head-waiter called out:

"The esteemed customer – may he visit us again soon – has donated three credits to the hard-working staff of this establishment!"

Approving murmurs and a few lazy cheers uttered from the 'hard-working' staff followed the Jedi out. Frowning, Sidious, hurriedly paid his own bill, then rushed toward the exit. The head-waiter's voice caught up with him just before he reached the door.

"The esteemed customer – may he still his appetite in establishments more appealing to his tastes in the future – has found the service unsatisfactory, it seems."

Loud jeers saw Sidious on the street. He was not amused. But no sense in going back in and showing the head-waiter and his 'hard-working' staff just how much he had appreciated their 'service'. He could not lose his quarry now. Ah. There he was. Hurrying into the street, Sidious, took up pursuit again. But then the screech of abused repulsors broke into the afternoon buzz of the back-alleys and a cab swerved into the street, coming to a halt in front of him. The passenger door popped open.

"Get in!" Darth Nexus snapped. Obeying instantly, Sidious barely had time to settle into the seat before the cab took off again. "The body has been confiscated," the Whiphid snarled, his voice thick with anger. "This incompetent, ugly woman was inept to keep it out of the Jedi's clutches, it would seem," he growled.

"A Jedi? I – "  


"Don't interrupt me! So, two Jedi came this morning, early. One Leevar Halcyon, who signed the transfer authorization, and one Alamys Jorka, who will conduct the transfer. That one is of interest of us. The other we can forget about. Now. The body is being prepared and will be taken to the port in two hours time. We will go back there and find Jorka's ship."

"With all due respect, master, but why don't we just grab the body?"

"Too much trouble. It is at CorSec right now, and we don't want anyone to know about our little project here, do we?"

"This May Calvar – "

"She won't tell anyone. She's unfortunately suffered a heart-attack."

Sidious exhaled in some relief. "Good," he muttered under his breath, then Nexus clouted him across the head.

"Thought I'd be so stupid as to leave traces? And where have you been, apprentice? Did I not tell you to wait at the motel?" 

"Yes, master, but there was a Jedi – "

"What! Where? And why the hell didn't you tell me earlier?"

For a moment Sidious considered murdering the Whiphid right then and there. "I apologize, master," he managed at last. "I was sort of overwhelmed by your fury."

To his surprise Darth Nexus bellowed a laugh. "Hah! Yes, of course. No matter. If he is the Jedi we are looking for we will certainly find him at the port."

Jogging into the landing bay he had rented for his ship, Alamys was all cold calculation. Leevar Halcyon had just contacted him to inform him of May Calvar's sudden death, and had again cautioned him to be very careful. But Alamys was not the least concerned. He would simply transfer the ship to one of CorSec's own ports and Leevar would have the body brought there. That way Alamys could throw his pusuers off and lay out a trap for them. They would track him over his rented speeder, undoubtedly, hoping to find out where he had relocated his ship to, and when that failed they would either try to get the body by force or else try to find a substitue at the construction site where it had been found. And Alamys would make sure they chose the latter option. 

TBC


	6. The Battle

The CorSec port was bustling with activity when Alamys Jorka set his ship down on one of the landing pads. Once the ship had settled down fully, Leevar Halcyon quickly walked over to welcome the Jedi Master. Nodding at the taller man, the Corellian motioned for him to follow. Side by side they walked toward the portmaster's office, where a cryobox carrying the remains of the lady was already waiting to be brought aboard Jorka's ship.

"You should leave right away," Leevar told the other Jedi quietly. "If you go now you will drop your pursuers far more easily, and the body will be safe on Coruscant."

"While that is true, I want to find out exactly who is trying to get at that body. I have a feeling that my suspcions might be proven wrong." 

To Leevar's surprise Alamys almost sounded guilty. Not something the Corellian Jedi had come to associate with the Jedi Master who seemed to live so strictly to the Jedi Code's rules. Apparently Alamys had suspected someone else, and if that suspicion proved wrong he would probably go and aplogize to whoever he had suspected. Leevar shrugged.

"I still think you should be careful. At least allow me to make the transfer if anything happens to you. We must not let this weapon fall into the wrong hands."  
  
"Done," Alamys replied and the two men clasped hands. "Have your people at Coronet's port watch out for anyone asking after my ship. You'll see, they will try to track my rented speeder next." The Jedi Master hesitated. "I hope I am not endangering your family with this. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to your wife and son."

"Let that be my problem," Leevar growled, his protectiveness roused. "What are you planning to do?"

"They won't dare steal the body outright, they will try to capture me and make me yield control over my ship."

Leevar's brows rose high. "And you are sure you can handle them? How many are we talking about?"

"Just two."

"Just two!" Lowering his voice again the Corellian urgently bent toward the Jedi Master. "Two 'dark forces'? I assume you know the theory. There are always two, a – "

"Master and an apprentice, yes," Alamys finished for him and stopped in front of the portmaster's office door. "I know, Leevar. I have met the apprentice already. He is inept, to say the least. As for the master," he hefted the handle of his lightsaber meaningfully, "I am a Jedi, Leevar Halcyon, and that does count for something, don't you think?"

__

Your confidence, _obviously_, the Corellian thought to himself, but merely nodded at his companion. And yet he had to admit that Alamys Jorka seemed competent enough, very sure of himself and his abilities. Additionally, he was among the more powerful Jedi of the Order, and reportedly a reknowned swordsman. Leevar had done his homework once Alamys had left him at CorSec Forensic Department. Alamys Jorka _could_ handle two Sith. With a great deal of luck.

Traffic had been packing the streets thickly on their way back to the port, and while Sidious again had schooled his patience, Nexus had resorted to a non-stop rant directed at the impassively listening droid-driver. Sidious ignored his master's heated speech studiedly, and instead tried to come up with a scheme that would deliver Inyo Di'vitt's body into their hands without revealing their participation in the matter. The best case, of course, would be to surprise the Jedi who would transfer the body and simply divert his ship's course so he would never arrive at Coruscant. But it would take more than Darth Nexus' yacht to bring a ship out of hyperspace, so they needed to take control of the Jedi's vessel here, on Corellia. Nexus had already thought of that, and yet Sidious had a feeling that they were overlooking something.

When the cab finally drove onto the rotunda in front of the port, Sidious was fist to get off the speeder, with Nexus close behind. The Whiphid, towering over everyone else in the vicinity, threw a casual glance around, then nodded in the direction of a young human male, who seemed to be waiting for someone. "This one," the Sith Master said in a low voice. "I will await you at the rental berths."

"Yes, master," Sidious answered, pitching his voice equally low, then purposefully made his way over to the man Nexus had pointed out. He was shorter even than Sidious, barely into his twenties, dark-haired, with a faint stubble of a beard covering his chin and cheeks. Brown eyes looked up inquisitively, when Sidious joined him. "Excuse me, perhaps you can help me."

The youth nodded slowly. "Of course. What can I do for you?"

"Pehr, is it? Yes, Pehr, you can do something for me."

The boy frowned. "Hey, how'd you – " He fell silent at a slight gesture of Sidious' hand. 

"You will listen, and obey," the Sith Lord whispered, driving his mind deeper into the young man's awareness, pushing through untrained mental shields with practised ease. "You are looking for Jedi Master Alamys Jorka, from Coruscant. You have a message for him from Leevar Halcyon, Jedi Knight. It is urgent. You will consult the dockmaster or one of his assistants and ask for Master Jorka. They will not know where he is, but you will ask if you can wait with his ship. Once you know where the ship is you will come back to me. Now go."

He watched the boy leave and vanish around a corner, before he followed. No doubt the dockmaster would not tell Pehr where the ship was located, but while Pehr distracted the office staff, Sidious could find out by himself. And if anyone came asking questions, all leads would turn toward unfortunate Pehr. From a safe distance Sidious watched Pehr as the boy tried to get the attention of the various beings on duty in the dockmaster's office. Heightening his sense of hearing and directing it toward the conversing men with pin-point accuracy, Sidious was able to overhear the short discussion.

"Master Jorka, eh? Sorry, boy, but Master Jorka has already left."

"I have a message for him, from Leevar Halcyon," Pehr said again, in a monotonous voice. "It is urgent."

"Yes, son, you already said so. Now, if you would excuse me?"

Leaving Pehr standing forlornly in front of the office, the man vanished again. Sidious unconsciously balled his right hand into a tight fist. Gone. Gone! Had he left Corellia? Or had he simply decided to relocate his ship? The easiest way to find out would be to see whether he had rented a speeder, and if so, if he was still using it. 

As it turned out, Alamys Jorka was indeed still on planet. He had rented a speeder very early in the morning, upon his arrival, had moved all over Coronet, apparently, and now, as evening fell, the speeder was headed toward the city limits, and Sidious knew exactly where he was going. The former city dump, where construction workers had found Inyo Di'vitt's body.

"We will confront him there," Darth Nexus explained calmly. "Chances are that he thinks himself all too clever and will try to trick us." His mouth widened into a broad grin. "He will soon learn that he won't get very far with that."

Two hours later, with night covering the planetside fully, they had reached the construction site. Carefully, Nexus and Sidious made their way onto the site, and soon they stumbled across a deserted speeder. So, Alamys Jorka was still here, waiting for them, undoubtedly. The man was either a total imbecile or else very confident in himself. Knowing the Jedi, Sidious opted for the latter. Up front a vast hole had been dug into the ground, undoubtedly it would house the fundament of the building later on. Sidious raised his head, trying to assess the size and depth of the pit. Beside him, Darth Nexus was studying the construction site intently. There was no trace of Alamys Jorka.

"Ah. Tomb raiders," an unfamiliar voice announced suddenly from behind them. 

Sidious' head snapped around, his blue eyes narrowing as he watched the shadows resolve into a tall figure, face hidden by the hood of his cloak. The Jedi. He saw his master begin to smile as the giant Whiphid turned toward this adversary, but Jorka did not even bother with a verbal confrontation. Thrusting out his left arm he swept Nexus off his feet with a blast of power that made Sidious' teeth rattle. Without breaking stride the Jedi closed the distance toward the Sith apprentice, activating his lightsaber on the go. It had a white blade. Sidious barely had enough time to bring up his own weapon, and he cautiously took a step back to gain more room. He almost fell into the pit at his back, before he became aware of the danger. Growling softly, he attacked. 

The Jedi Master side-stepped him elegantly, and the hood of his cloak fell back, allowing the white light of his blade to illuminate his face, which was as hard and cold as he remembered. Sidious set his jaw grimly, realizing that this would not be easy at all. The man was certainly powerful, and a skilled warrior. To his left Darth Nexus had sat up, but still seemed dazed. Jorka spared the Whiphid a quick glance, then nodded at Sidious. 

"People tend to underestimate the role of the apprentice," he said, and moved in fast for another attack. "They tend to forget that he will be someone younger, faster and more impulsive. A dangerous combination."

The man was a swordsmaster, which was easily apparent once Sidious found himself retreating again and again, barely able to block the other's slashes. It was a game the other was playing, if only he knew what it was aiming at! Sidious felt positively triumphant when he saw Darth Nexus rise from the ground, with the Jedi's back turned toward him. Yes! If he would strike now – 

Jumping high, the Jedi Master sommersaulted above Sidious' head, just as a blast of dark power came careening toward them. The apprentice took one good look at his master's rage-marred features, then quickly brought his free hand up in a blurring gesture to deflect the blast and divert it upward. It hit a construction skeleton that came crashing down hard, but Sidious had already moved away, hoping to have trapped that damn Jedi. Jorka came at him covered in white dust, but otherwise unharmed, and again Sidious found himself on the defensive. The eerie calm with which the Jedi fought was somehow frightening. But then the snap-hiss of another lightsaber being ignited caught his ear. So, Darth Nexus had finally decided to interfere. 

"You will be honored to die on my blade, Jedi," the Whiphid declared in a low growl, then moved in from the side, while Sidious aimed a stab at Jorka's middle, seeking to drive him into Nexus' path.

Surprising both master and apprentice, the Jedi let himself drop on his back and aimed a kick at Sidious' ankles, that saw the apprentice fighting hard to keep his balance. The Whiphid, his bulky form already in motion, gave a bellowing grunt as he tried to stop his headlong plunge – ineffectively – and pushed Sidious aside with brute force. The younger Sith flew into a stack of planks, but Nexus did not waste any time and his purple blade came down hard on the Jedi still lying on the ground. 

Blocking the blow, Jorka rolled around and let Nexus' blade stab into the ground, before he rose and brought his own lightsaber up. It caressed the Whiphid's stomach ever so slightly, leaving the stench of charred flesh and a very angry Sith Master. Backhanding the Jedi Master, who was too late to move away in time, Nexus roared something in his native tongue. A curse, Sidious thought coolly, as he darted underneath his master's arm and struck at the momentarily distracted Jedi, who was still reeling from the massive blow delivered by the Whiphid's muscle-packed arm. The block the other managed was too weak to prevent Sidious' blade from finding its mark. 

__

Yes!

With an audible gasp Alamys Jorka turned away, one hand flying up instinctively to cover the side of his face. Sidious pressed his advantage, and stabbed the point of his blade at the other's flank, yet found that he had underestimated the man badly. Bringing his lightsaber up again, the Jedi pivoted on his heels quickly, rammed his elbow into the shorter Sith's ribcage right underneath his shoulder blade, and Sidious dropped to his knees with a groan, his right side paralyzed for just a moment. He could hear the sound of the white blade as it swung around, could see its trajectory before his inner eye. In the last possible moment he managed to duck out of the way, but the Jedi simply halted his weapon and aimed a short cut at the Sith apprentice's back. It grazed Sidious' left arm as he rolled around, frantically trying to escape. 

But the Jedi Master had dismissed him already and was moving in against Darth Nexus. The Whiphid's face was fixed in a ferocious snarl, and he stood with arms spread at his sides, like a wrestler ready to meet the enemy's charge. Sidious summoned his strength again and jumped up from his position on the ground, stalking the other two combatants intently, waiting for an opening that would allow him to interfere. The Jedi's white blade came down hard on Darth Nexus' purple one, and the human retreated immediately, avoiding the backslash delivered just as forcefully by the Whiphid Sith Master. With a dizzyingly quick set of jabs and cuts the Jedi moved in again, and Sidious' felt the hairs on his back stand up when Nexus screamed out loud, and the handle of his lightsaber flew into the night sky in a wide arc. It landed in the pit at his back, lost from sight. The Jedi aimed a kick at the Whiphid's midsection and his boot connected with a solid thud, that saw Nexus staggering backward, small eyes nearly bulging out of his head in surprise. 

Yet Sidious had waited for exactly this to happen. For a moment, standing on one leg, the Jedi was precariously balanced, and instantly the Sith apprentice aimed a Force blow at the man's back. It lifted Jorka right off the ground, yet, impossibly, he managed to twist his body around in mid-flight, landing in a half-crouch, facing Sidious. He attacked at once, driving the Sith apprentice back again. But this time Sidious was prepared. He did not try to offer a counter-offensive, he merely tried to keep his adversary occupied, while he picked up several wooden planks with the aid of the Force from the heap his previous little accident had left, then sent them at the Jedi's taller frame, seeking to distract him. Reacting with grace and speed, yet without ever taking his eyes off Sidious, the Jedi Master started an elegant dance with the planks, shearing them into pieces with his blade, before he flung the shrapnel at Sidious in turn. 

The speed with which the man managed to assess his position, situation and to evaluate the best and most effective response to an attack was unbelievable. It was all Sidious could do not to get caught in that hailstorm of sharp wooden splinters. When it ceased at last he found that the Jedi had already engaged Darth Nexus again. Now it was the Whiphid's turn to fend off the Jedi's attacks, and to Sidious' satisfaction he proved as inept at that as his apprentice. Suddenly, with a roar that bore testimony to the Sith Master's anger and frustration, Nexus charged at the Jedi, throwing all caution over board. Sidious had no idea how the Whiphid avoided the cool, methodical defensive barrage the Jedi employed, but the next moment the Jedi was flying through the air and crashed into the remains of the construction skeleton that Sidious had wrecked earlier. 

Moving at once, Sidious stabbed his blade into the downed Jedi Master's midsection, stopping short of boiling the man's intestines. They needed him alive, after all, to tell them where he had hidden the body. Jorka, who had been struggling to get up, dropped back to the ground like a sack, his agony filling the night with a very sweet song. Sidious smiled, then gestured leisurely to call the handle of his adversary's blade to his hand. He attached the weapon to his own belt and stood guard over the Jedi, while Nexus made his way over slowly, his heavy bulk making the ground vibrate with each step he took. 

"So," the Whiphid hissed. "You have underestimated the apprentice after all, little Jedi."

"Yet it was the master who defeated me," the man shot back in a slurred voice, and carefully propped himself up on one hand. 

Only now could Sidious marvel at the little masterpiece his own blade had burned into the Jedi's face in an earlier exchange. The blistered wound ran from the outer corner of his left eye down and across the corner of his mouth in an angry red line. It almost split the man's chin in two. Once he had reached the two men, Nexus brought his still activated weapon down without warning, and the Jedi fell back with a scream as the lightsaber burned across his chest. 

"Take care that the master does not kill you," the Whiphid cautioned the human coldly. "Where is the body?" he continued, the tip of his blade hovering dangerously close over the Jedi's eyes, threatening to blind them forever. 

There was no way Jorka could escape that threat, with his back and head pressed firmly against the ground. Yet he kept remarkably calm. "Safe. You won't get it."

"You are overestimating your chances, Master Jorka," Nexus declared contemptuously. "You will return Inyo Di'vitt's remains to us, where they belong."

The Jedi Master smiled. "Really? I don't think you can make me."

"Then you do not know very much."

Taking his cue, Sidious flopped down to sit cross-legged on the ground. It was always a pleasure to watch a master at work, and if there was one thing Darth Nexus excelled at, it was the deft use of his lightsaber as an instrument of most exquisite torture. So Sidious sat there for the next two hours, to watch and learn. Sometimes, when Nexus granted his victim some time to rest, Sidious would idly contemplate their situation. During one of those breaks he speculated that the Jedi's first name was actually Tyreenese. Tyreena was a Rim world that seldomly was even mentioned on the major star charts. The Tyreenese were organized in a strict, hierarchical society, as far as he knew. Sidious wondered what part this Jedi would have played on Tyreena, had he remained there, which would have spared him a lot of torment, certainly.

Alamys – the name a variant of Alamar, the blue sun of Tyreena, Sidious thought – was certainly tough. Any other time Darth Nexus would have managed to crack his victim within the first thirty minutes. But the Jedi Master simply endured the torture, gritting his teeth while sweat poured down his face and drenched his body. The night air was thick with the stench of charred skin and burned flesh. By the time he passed out there was not much left of the Jedi Master's clothing. Darth Nexus straightened from his victim and gestured toward the unconscious Jedi. 

"Pick him up. We will take him aboard our ship for now. He will yield the body's location soon enough."

The Halcyon homestead was enjoying a quiet evening right up until the point where Leevar found it unbearable to keep still any longer. He rose from his seat on the couch abruptly, drawing his wife's concerned attention, but he was gazing only at Neeja, who had fallen asleep at play and lay curled up in his little corner, breathing deeply. Grimacing in disdain, Leevar turned his head to gaze at his wife. 

"What is it?" she asked, putting her hands in her lap, waiting. "Trouble?"

He nodded. "I fear so, yes. I warned him, repeatedly, but he would not listen."

"The Jedi Master?"

"I can sense something, something dark, very powerful. No matter how hard I try I cannot find Alamys' presence. I fear the worst."

His wife rose anxiously and rounded the table to come to stand in front of him. "Leevar, I do not want you to put yourself in danger over something that is not your business," she told him urgently.

"But I have made it my business, love. I have to go and bring that ship to Coruscant." When she paled he wrapped her in his arms and held her tight. "You could move in with your parents for the time being," he suggested quietly. "I do not think they will try to harm you, but I will alert CorSec to protect you too."

"But I want you to stay," she whispered, tears sliding down her smooth cheeks. He kissed them away.

"I will be back," Leevar answered with a tiny smile. "I swear."

Holding her for a while longer, Leevar broke the embrace at last and went over to kiss the crown of Neeja's head gently. With a fond smile he straightened again, then went upstairs to don his Jedi garb and retrieve his lightsaber. He would make a stop-over at CorSec headquarters to alert them as to Alamys Jorka's disappearance, then he would proceed to the CorSec port where the Jedi Master had left his ship. He was not entirely sure whether Master Jorka was dead or simply a captive, perhaps he would be able to free himself, even, but that did not matter. If his suspicions concerning the body were true, Leevar had to get it to Coruscant under any circumstances. 

He knew very well that whoever was hunting after the body had no scruples, May Calvar's inexplicable death proved that, and if they were what he suspected them to be, they might try to take his family hostage to get him to return the body. Leevar stopped in front of the family's speeder, undecided. What if he instead tried to take on those two himself? He shook his head no. Impossible. Taking his family with him was not an option either. With a wistful look back at the house, Leevar boarded the speeder. One step at a time, and he would reach his goal eventually. He still had another option, and one he would consider seriously. If the Sith were tracking Jorka's ship, he would send the ship off, but keep the body and relocate it to another vessel. Yes, that would be the easiest solution. Smiling to himself, Leevar put a bit more speed into his vehicle, driving hard toward Coronet's city center.

TBC


	7. What is spoken in prophecy

Alamys woke with a strangled gasp, finding his mouth and nose clogged with his own blood, making it almost impossible for him to breathe. It took a moment for him to realize where exactly he was. A ship, he thought, judging from the wall design. His body was one mass of bruises and superficial burns, the sole exception being the hole burned into his middle, and his nose and jaw seemed to be broken. Moving therefore was out of question, for now. Nevertheless he tried to take in more of his surroundings, and carefully turned his head to the opposite side, only to find the Sith apprentice sitting on his haunches in front of him, studying the Jedi Master intently. In the background, the Whiphid was lounging in one of the chairs that had been fixed around the rec room's round table. The alien seemed to be dead drunk. Alamys frowned at the strange setting.

Then the apprentice rose and turned to address the Whiphid. "Master, he is awake," he announced calmly. The Whiphid waved drunkenly. 

"Good, good. You go and try your hand at a bit of questioning, Sidious," the giant alien said in a slurred voice, his huge torso swaying slightly. "I'll watch."

When the apprentice turned back toward Alamys the Jedi Master felt a jolt of fear at seeing the hateful expression on the man's face. It was clear that Sidious resented his master, and it was also clear to Alamys that the apprentice sought to vent his frustration on his helpless captive. Well, not all that helpless. Very carefully, Alamys reached out for the Force, determined to sell his life dearly. But he found that he could not enter a calming trance, his injuries hindering him from taking deep, even breaths. There was power, just out of sight, a maddening whirlwind of fear and despair, but Alamys refused to acknowledge that. The Sith, noticing his dilemma, smiled at him coldly.

"You feel it, don't you? Perhaps you would like to match darkness against darkness?" 

It was a taunt, obviously, but still, Alamys' reaction was fervent. "Never," he snapped, and winced in pain. His lower jaw hurt like hell.

"Oh, so brave," Sidious teased him, while he proceeded to rip the remains of the Jedi Master's cloak to shreds and used it to bind his wrists together on his back. Then, carefully, he bunched up a piece of cloth and shoved it into Alamys' mouth, delicately drawing his jaws open, a move that sent red sparks of agony flying through the Jedi's head. Bound and gagged he was barely able to breath, and his instincts kicked in, demanding that he free himself. It took a supreme effort to calm himself down. Closing his eyes, Alamys turned to the mantra that always was solace to him whenever he was in trouble.

There is no emotion – There is peace. There is no ignorance – There is knowledge. There is no passion – There is serenity. There is no death – There is the Force.

Repeating the words over and over again in his mind he was able to shut out the pain as Sidious began hurting him, proving much more adept at it than his master. But gradually his mind was filled with a blank wall of suffering. All the while the Sith Lord kept talking about Inyo Di'vitt and her experiments, her death and her victims. Alamys realized that Sidious' goal was not to get him talking, he wanted to break into his mind to retrieve the location of the body, which was why he diverted the Jedi Master's thoughts toward this specific topic. In turn, Alamys increased his efforts and started shouting the words of the Jedi Code in his mind. All he gained, though, was a patronizing smile directed at him from Sidious.

"What is taking so long?" came the low growl from the Whiphid, and Alamys heard the alien rise from his seat. He came over toward them with heavy steps, making the deck vibrate underneath Alamys' body. The Jedi Master reacted instantly. Throwing himself around, he pressed his back against the wall and kicked his legs out at Sidious' kneeling figure with all his strength. The apprentice flew back and crashed against the already swaying Whiphid, who lost his balance and toppled over, landing on top of Sidious. 

For a moment both Sith were incapacitated, and Alamys forced himself onto his knees, using the wall as leverage to stand. He remained there briefly, gathering his concentration, then jumped over the tangled bodies that were frantically trying to disengage from one another amidst loud curses and indignant shouts. Disorientated, Alamys hunted around for any exit, but it cost him precious time, he knew. Finally he found a door and rammed his shoulder against the electrical pad that would open it. It did not budge. With a powerful move he ripped the cloth holding his wrists together apart and quickly dislodged the gag from his mouth. Then he tried the pad again, and managed to palm the door open. Finally!

Behind him, he heard the outraged scream from the Whiphid Sith Master, and a moment later, just as he stumbeld through the opening, something hit his shoulder, and white hot pain paralysed his body, dropping him to the deck again. The impact let the long-bladed sword that had punctured his shoulder slide halfway back again, causing even more injury. Tears started leaking from Alamys' eyes, unbidden. Then the Whiphid dropped down next to him, his breath stinking of alcohol. 

"A shame," the alien muttered unsteadily as he dislodged the sword with about as much care as a butcher would use. "I really meant to hit your neck," the Whiphid concluded. 

From his position on the deck Alamys could see Sdious standing a bit apart, rubbing his left shoulder and directing a fiery gaze at the Whiphid. One day soon the apprentice would kill his master out of sheer exasperation, Alamys thought, suddenly very cool again. The Whiphid seized his neck in a large hand and dragged him upright again.

"Master," Sidious began, but the alien interrupted him instantly.

"Silence. You obviously are as inept at questioning a prisoner as you are at anything else. Here, hold that." He threw the bloodied sword at the apprentice blade first. Sidious caught it expertly, but the glowering expression on his face made him look like a raptor ready to strike. For a long moment Alamys stood gazing up into the Whiphid's small, red eyes, saw the malice and cruelty that lurked behind the alcohol-induced stupor lingering on the alien's face, and he knew that he had just one last chance left. "Now, what to do with you? Shall I squeeze that knowledge out of your brain, perhaps?"

Before Alamys could react the Whiphid's palms had engulfed his head already. The Jedi Master dropped down on his haunches and head-butted the alien into the groin, sending the Whiphid stumbling back with a howl. Then, with the Whiphid's head in better reach, Alamys spun around on one leg and delivered a high-kick that snapped the Sith Master's head around mercilessly. With the alien knocked out for the moment, Alamys immediately made for the exit.

But he had underestimated the apprentice again. 

Sidious raced past Nexus' bulk with cold calculation, his anger an icy blade that was aimed straight at the Jedi, even though the true source of his fury was the Whiphid. Making himself run even faster, Sidious sped out of the ship and found the Jedi Master hobbling toward the shadows in the distance. The Sith apprentice smiled to himself and shook his head. Alamys Jorka would have to be able to fly to get out of this trap. They had brought him aboard their ship, then landed the vessel inside the vast pit that made up half of the construction site. There were sheer walls all around, no way for the Jedi Master to escape. As expected, Sidious found him leaning against the far side of the pit, panting with exhaution and pain, his head lowered in a listless gesture of defeat. 

"You won't escape me," Sidious whispered as he walked closer. "Ever."

Jorka raised his eyes ever so slightly, meeting his unafraid. "That may be so, but you won't get what you want either."

His patience finally snapping, Sidious focused his anger into a black fist of outrage that hit the Jedi Master full force. He heard Alamys' ribs crack from where he stood, and blood started flowing from the taller man's mouth instantly. Eyes bulging, Jorka dropped to his knees, his arms folded protectively across his abdomen. In four quick strides Sidious had reached him and slipped his hand underneath the man's chin, forcing him to look up into his eyes. 

"Now, I would advise you to consider very carefully what you say next," he growled. "Where is the body?"

For a moment the Jedi Master's eyes tightened in defiance, but then his features slackened visibly. "My ship," he managed, averting his gaze.

"Where?"

"CorSec port, north," Alamys replied, his voice very low.

Releasing him again, Sidious straightened once more. "Excellent. I will confirm this. If you have lied to me, expect your torment to exceed your wildest imagination. I will be back."

He left the Jedi were he was and stalked back to the ship to retrieve his speeder bike. Now, if Nexus could bring himself to staying sober more than twenty hours none of this would have happened. Sidious' hands were clenching and unclenching into tight fists as he calmed himself. He went into the ship to check on Nexus, and found the Whiphid sitting at the table, eyes fixed thoughtfully on a bottle of Corellian whiskey. 

"Did you kill him?" he asked quietly.

"No master. He has finally revealed the location of his ship. I believe I will find the body there." 

"Excellent. Go and bring it back here. Then we will leave."

Sidious stood mute for a moment. "Yes, master," he grated out at last, and proceeded to the ship's hold. Ten minutes later he was on his way to the CorSec port, dark thoughts of vengeance for company. Well, hopefully Alamys Jorka was incapacitated enough not to cause even more trouble or worse, to escape. But then, woul dit be so bad if the Jedi Master managed to kill Nexus? Yes, it would. That was a pleasure Sidious had reserved for himself.

Alamys had closed his eyes, too exhausted to feel shame at all. Perhaps, just perhaps he had bought Leevar enough time to get away. His heart clenched with worry. Hopefully the Corellian Jedi would not cross Sidious' path right now. In the state he was in the Sith apprentice was unpredictable, and very powerful. Leaning his back against the high wall of the construction pit, Alamys fought down another wave of despair. It was true what he had told Leevar. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to the Corellian's family. 

Caughing hard, Alamys bent over and spat the blood filling his mouth and throat onto the ground before him. Things looked bad, but there was still that chance, that Leevar had reacted in time. 

He assessed the damage to his body methodically, and found that he had no chance of getting away for the next hours or so. First he needed to heal. Putting all worries behind him, his secret a secret no more, Alamys let his mind low into the Force, calmer than before, and let himself float in that soft embrace. He breathed against the pain wreacking his ribcage, through it and beyond, until he had found a rhythm that held a balance between pain and relief.

There is no emotion – There is peace. There is no ignorance – There is knowledge. There is no passion – There is serenity. There is no death – There is the Force.

He was at peace again, and his mind cleared gradually, allowing him tp ponder the events to come. If Leevar had left with ship and body, Sidious would return empty-handed, and the Sith would either vanish into whatever den they had come from, or would else try to keep their existence hidden further. Which meant that they would somehow try to get Leevar to keep silent. Using his family as pressure point, for example. Should Leevar have been too late ... Well, no sense in shying away from that thought. If the Sith got their hands on the body and if a trace of the virus had survived the centuries, there was a good chance that they would bring Inyo Di'vitt's plan to a more successful ending. Again Alamys remembered Hagen Dycos' fears concerning an infection of the Force itself. He frowned. Though he had no clue how such a thing could be done, he was afraid to dismiss the possibility. Not that he could do anything about it, in his current position. Sighing deeply, Alamys let his shoulders slump, resignedly accepting the pain that caused. Nothing he could do, period. He should not worry now, and rest instead. Following his own advice, he fell asleep, healing.

Alamys woke to the sound of approaching small craft, Sidious speeder bike, he assumed. He watched the Sith apprentice hop off his bike with a large sack slung over his shoulder. Inyo Di'vitt's remains, undoubtedly. Struggling to his feet, the Jedi Master made his way over to the ship slowly. It was pure irony that he was now voluntarily returning to his captors, but he knew that escape was impossible, and he was curious as to what the Sith were planning to do now. Cautiously, he walked up the exit ramp, feeling each step jolt through his abused body. He paused at the entry hatch, then continued further into the ship. As suspected he found the Sith Master seated at the table in the rec room, while Sidious was on his way back out and brushed past the Jedi without a word, possibly to bring his speeder bike on board. Wearily, Alamys sat down opposite from the Whiphid, keeping a careful watch over the giant, but Nexus seemed preoccupied.

"My apprentice told me you found reason at last," he said suddenly, making Alamys jump. 

"I do not know whether reason was part of that decision," the Jedi Master confessed truthfully. He still wasn't sure why he had let Sidious cow him into that admission. Grimacing ever so slightly he felt the left side of his face burn as his skin stretched around the lightsaber slash. 

"He can be truly frightening," The Whiphid whispered, then gave Alamys a conspirative wink, before he raised a glass filled with some brown liquid to his lips. 

Alamys stared at him in fascination. But he recalled all too vividly the sheer menace he had seen in Sidious' blue eyes out there, the total absence of scruples, of any hesitation whatsoever. Leaning back again she shrugged carefully, his punctured shoulder making that gesture pure torture. "I guess so, yes."

"Here," Nexus said, and slid a holocube across the table. "That belongs to you, doesn't it?"

"The Library, actually," Alamys answered darkly, still not sure what to think of this surreal encounter. He reached out for the holocube, let it roll over his palms thoughtfully. It came alive with startling abruptness.

"Greetings," the Ho'Din began. "I am Master Jeldo, Keeper of this Chronicle. What is your question?"

Through the greenish glow of the hologram Alamys saw Nexus gaze at the miniature image of the Ho'Din with the childlike fascination of any drunk. But Alamys did not know what to say. So he sat gazing at the tiny hologram wistfully, seeking comfort in a familiar, friendly face. The sound of the ship's exit hatch slamming shut brought him out of his reverie, and a moment later Darth Sidious stalked into the rec room, his blue eyes glittering dangerously as he gazed at his master's back.

"Making friends?" he asked coldly, then took another step forward and snatched the holocron out of Alamys' hands. "Not yours any longer, Jedi," he spat. 

Alamys met his fury calmly, but Nexus turned his massive head ever so slightly, all sense of wonder vanishing in a blast of icy contempt when he looked up at his apprentice. "Enough," he snarled hoarsely and pushed himself up from his chair. "We are leaving. You will join me in the cockpit, Sidious. Secure him," he added, with a nod in the Jedi Master's direction. "He won't be any trouble."

"Really," Sidious hissed under his breath, low enough to keep it hidden from Nexus, but for Alamys the hatred in his words was plain enough. Still caught up in his fury, Darth Sidious moved toward him, a snake-like movement, more graceful than what Alamys had seen of the man before. Hsi eyes were burning. "Your friend is dead," he said with finalty, and Alamys felt himself pale in shock. 

"You – " he began heatedly, rising from his seat, but Sidious pushed him back down again hard. He leaned very close, his left hand still resting on Alamys' shoulder.

"Now listen closely, Alamys Jorka. Darth Nexus is a fool, but he is a dead fool, who does not know that his end is near. Just like you."

Closing his eyes, Alamys felt close to tears. Not Leevar! He thought of the Corellian's little son, Neeja, his mother whose name he did not even know. It was his fault that Leevar was dead, his alone. _I am so sorry_. Overwhelmed with grief, he did not resist when Sidious hauled him out of the chair and dragged him over to the corner where he had first woken. He simply sat propped up against the wall, while the Sith apprentcie went aft to fetch something, metal cuffs, Alamys realized when he fixed them around the Jedi Master's wrists. Then he snapped a collar around the captive's neck and activated it. That was the last thing Alamys felt that day, before he was plunged into dreamless, unsubstantional oblivion.

Qui-Gon Jinn was restless. He had been deeply disturbed ever since his mock-duel with Master Jorka, and what the other man had implied concerning Count Dooku's disappearance. Now rumours had it that there were important documents missing from the library, and Qui-Gon was gradually warming up to the thought that his former master might really have been dabbling with Dark Side teachings. He had been thinking long and hard what to do about this, and he longed to find Dooku and confront him about these rumours. If they were true ... He shook his head evehemently. Count Dooku was one of the most insightful and responsible Jedi that Qui-Gon knew of. He might not be as tight on custom and protocol as Alamys Jorka, but Qui-Gon preferred the less conventional way. 

On his way down to the main promenade, Qui-Gon passed through the levels housing the different class-rooms where children of all ages were dilligently studying to perhaps become Jedi Knights one day. Hesitating for a moment, Qui-Gon decided to find Master Yoda and discuss his future steps with him. If anyone could give him advice now it was the tiny Jedi Master. As it turned out, Master Yoda was busy with one of his classes, and Qui-Gon smiled as he watched the row of children sit on the floor, eyes wide, drinking in the Jedi Master's words. When he became aware of Qui-Gon standing in the doorway, Yoda interrupted his lecture and encouraged the small students to relax a bit until he returned. Then he hobbled out into the hallway to join Qui-Gon. That one was surprised by the solemn expression that fell across the Jedi Master's features quite suddenly.

"Heard the news you have already?"

Confused, Qui-Gon shook his head. "No, master. What news?"

"Arrived just has a new student, a boy from Corellia. Neeja Halcyon his name is, the son of Leevar Halcyon. Died his father has quite unexpectedly."

Qui-Gon was momentarily taken aback. He had met Halcyon once, a brash Corellian with a quick wit and an easy smile. He had not known that he'd had a son, though. "That is very sad. His mother brought him?"

Yoda nodded. "Not all this is. Before die he did Leevar Halcyon helped Master Jorka. Now Master Jorka, vanished he has too, on Corellia. Concerned Mistress Halcyon says her husband was, suspect he did an act of violence."

"You mean Master Jorka might be dead?"

"Possible it is. Unclear the Force is about his fate."

Nodding to himself, Qui-Gon pondered the implications of this event. He had suspected that Alamys Jorka would try to track down Count Dooku himself, though he had not understood why the Jedi Master had decided to begin his search on Corellia of all places. Yet the Jedi Knight had a feeling that those disappearances were connected somehow. 

"What should I do?" he asked, never even considering that this might not concern him. 

Yoda gave him a long look, then sighed. "Feel I do that Master Jorka is close to darkness. Proud he is, and pride is a trip-wire for the unwary. Loose him we can not. Too powerful he is, just like your former master. Find them we must and make certain that no danger they pose. If meet they do once more, fear I do that fight they will again."

"I see," Qui-Gon replied drily. He remembered all too vividly the heated discussions his master had held with Alamys Jorka in the past. "I will begin my search on Serenno, Count Dooku's homeworld. Perhaps I can find out something there."

"Agree I do. Careful you must be, Qui-Gon Jinn, until certain you are about what to expect."

Bowing respectfully, Qui-Gon gave a slight smile. "I will, Master Yoda. May the Force be with you."

"And with you, Qui-Gon."

Darth Sidious was pacing the length of his room impatiently. He needed to return to Naboo soon now, and Nexus was taking too long! Unfortunately Siidious himself had never immersed himself in studying natural sciences, but his master Darth Nexus had been a reknowned scientist, a true exception of the Whiphid species. Now Nexus had shut himself into his laboratory, seeking to extract the surviving traces of the Motha Virus from Inyo Di'vitt's decayed body. And Sidious was stuck. His master had tasked him with finding a way to infect the Force with the Motha Virus, but the apprentice was hard-pressed to imagine such a thing. It seemed impossible. The Force was not an entity as such, it was made up of mupltiple entities, of everything alive. One would have to infect everything to infect the Force, he thought. And such an effort was truly not worthwhile. Instead, Sidious found Inyo Di'vitt's original plan quite appealing. Infect a few Jedi Knights, turn them lose in the Jedi Temple and boom – you'd have a major war going on right on Coruscant, that would force the Republic to interfere, and with any luck the Jedi would be eradicated in a civil war. 

That happy vision receded into the back of his mind gradually as reality kicked in again. Nexus would never allow that. Shrugging to himself, Sidious wandered out of his room and into the house's living-room. The 'house' was actually no more than a bunker set into the coastline of Zelos II's oceanside. It had three stories and one cellar, which was currently occupied by Alamys Jorka. Another thing Sidious did not understand. Why did his master insist on keeping the Jedi alive? He knew far too much to let live. True, there was not much Jorka could do, and there was only very little chance that he could even muster the strength to try and escape. Still. Sidious stalked down the set of stairs that led into the basement and carefully checked on the room's single occupant. He seemed to be asleep. Opening the door, the Sith apprentice turned on the lights, which clicked on one after the other, bathing the stark room in a cold white glow. 

Alamys Jorka had settled down in the far corner of the basement, wrapped in an old blanket. He was stirring weakly as Sidious walked over to him. Tired blue eyes looked out between crusted eyelids, up at the Sith apprentice. There was no fear visible in the Jedi Master's features, though. He had lost weight over the past few days, and Sidious knew that he was starving, but Nexus had forbidden him to feed the man. Which seemed to run totally contrary to his keep-the-Jedi-alive maxime. One plausible explanation would be that Nexus wanted to weaken the man further, as if that were necessary. There was nothing Alamys Jorka could offer in terms of resistance. It was all he could do to survive now. Sidious prodded the man with his left boot tentatively. 

"Can you speak?" Jorka blinked at him, then shook his head. "Stay put. I'll be back," the apprentice promised, then left, only to return shortly thereafter with a flask of water in one hand, the holocron he had found with the Jedi Master in the other. 

He handed the water to Jorka, who unscrewed the flask carefully to drink. While the other man wetted his parched throat, Sidious sat cross-legged in front of him, studying the holocron pensively. Neither he nor Nexus could activate it without getting told that they would not learn anything here. It seemed to be a sort of safety-catch that prevented any darksider from using it. It was a shrewd design, and devised almost two thousand years ago, if Nexus' estimate of the holocron's age was true. Reverentially, Sidious reached out to take the holocron in his left hand and held it up to his eyes. A moment later the gatekeeper, the Ho'Din Jeldo, appeared, lecturing him again, that he would not learn anything. Sidious gave the image a mirthless smile. Then he handed the holocron over to Alamys Jorka, who looked first at Sidious, then at the Ho'Din, before he set the flask aside and took up the offered cube. 

"Ask him about the Force," Sidious ordered, and again the Jedi gave him a long, inquisitive glance. 

When he spoke his deep voice was still hoarse. "Greetings Master Jeldo. In our last conversation you told me about a storm of darkness that almost swallowed the Jedi Temple. You mentioned an infection of the Force. Could you specify that observation?"  


Sidious' smile deepened. So, Alamys Jorka had understood enough to anticipate his new masters' wishes. Good. A tame Jedi might make an excellent asset in the war to come. He dropped his gaze to look down at the Ho'Din, as the holoimage began to explain.

"The presence of Roj Kell, and his deft manipulation of the Jedi assisting in his breaking, created a hostile atmosphere of distrust, doubt and aggression. Only after his escape the Jedi Council understood fully how he had managed to bring the temple's occupants at the brink of despair and darkness. In that he infected the Jedi residing within the temple, since his breaking involved many and touched many. It was hardly possible to ignore his plight, and yet his arrogance prompted many to despise him. Especially when it became known that he had betrayed us."  


"Then subterfuge is a way to confuse and deceive the Force?" Alamys Jorka asked.

"The Force is not a living entity," Master Jeldo corrected him. "But the Jedi Council concluded that, by creating such a mired web of darkness and deceit, it is possible to cloud the Jedi's perception of events. Which is why the Dark Side is so dangerous, and so hard to recognize. Therefore manipulation and deception are something the Jedi must uncover and fight. If the people are infected with darkness, the Force will be clouded."

The holocron was shut down abruptly, leaving Sidious staring at an empty spot just above the small cube. "Is that what you wanted to hear?" Alamys Jorka asked coldly. 

Sidious gave him a quick smile, meant to hide his surprise. "Yes," he declared. 

How marvellous! This was far easier than what Nexus was planning! And so much more subtle too! The Jedi was still gazing at him thoughtfully, then nodded seemingly to himself. 

"I suppose this is the way it has to be," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"The prophecy," Jorka explained. "It makes sense that somehow the light will be diminished, and that a savior will bring balance to the Force again."

Sidious was intrigued. "Prophecy? What prophecy are you talking about?"

" 'And in the time of greatest despair there shall come a savior, and he shall be known as the Son of the Suns'," Alamys quoted. "This can only mean the demise of the Jedi, for how else could despair overcome the galaxy, if not for the decline of the light?"

"You believe in this prophecy?" Sidious asked quietly, suppressing a laugh. Such arrogance!

Jorka looked at him earnestly. "Prophecies may be reflections of the hopes and wishes of the people that create them, but they still contain universal truths. History tells us that children's fairy tales are all too true. Evil never triumphs, no matter how long the light must fight to overcome darkness. The Sith eventually succumbed to it, at Ruusan. Even if you manage to go through with whatever you are planning you will always lose."

"So you _do_ believe it will come true."

Alamys shrugged. "What else is left for me?"

"You must be very patient, Alamys Jorka, that you could wait out millennia to see the light triumph only to start the circle anew."

"I believe in the Light," the older man said firmly. "That is why I am what I am, Sidious. I am a Jedi."

"You are a deluded fool," the Sith apprentice snapped, then rose somewhat indignantly, picking the holocron up as he stood. "I have told you once already. The sole reason for your still being alive is your continued usefulness to my master."

"And you are curious just what he is planning to do with me, aren't you?"

Sidious found no immediate answer. His mind congealed into a mass of hatred at the mere thought of the Whiphid Sith Master. Yes, just what was Nexus planning to do with the Jedi? 

"We shall see," he replied curtly, then whirled around to leave again. 

The lights went out again. Alamys settled back against the wall with a low sigh, but then he smiled. To someone as attuned to reading emotions as he was, the web of animosities spun between master and apprentice was so thick that it seemed to fill the entire house. Sidious despised the Whiphid Sith Master with a passion, but never let it show too openly, maintaining a cool, calm exterior most of the time. One benefit of that strategy was obviously his learning a lot of patience and self-control. And yet, one day Sidious would stand up to his master and slay him. That the apprentice was the more dangerous of the two Sith Alamys had learned already back on Corellia. For his plans to escape he would therefore have to concentrate his efforts on Nexus. 

The Whiphid was still more powerful and more knowledgeable than Sidious, but he was afraid of the younger man, hiding that fear behind frequent outbursts of seemingly uncontrolled fury. They served to keep Sidious uncertain about his master's state of mind. Also a long-practised defensive strategy. Still, there was one problem Alamys was facing: While Sidious quite frequently came down into the basement to gain information through the holocron and to question Alamys, Nexus never showed himself down here. Yet to play off master against apprentice, Alamys needed to make contact and groom the mutual animosities between the two Sith. Sidious had to move more aggressively against Nexus, so Nexus could be convinced that the threat his apprentice posed was getting out of his control, forcing him to act. 

But how to achieve this?

Shivering, Alamys tried to wrap the blanket closer around his naked body. Nexus was trying to weaken him for something, and unfortunately the Jedi Master had a fair idea of just what that was, even though Sidious would not even consider that possibility. Darth Nexus sought to succeed where Inyo Di'vitt had failed. He wanted to bring the awesome power the Motha Virus could unleash under his control and perhaps even turn it against his apprentice. Alamys relaxed a fraction. Perhaps Nexus himself would make the first step. After all, he could not risk his aprentice knowing anything of his plans. His ears perked up when he heard loud voices from overhead. A discussion? Doors slammed, there was the sound of pounding feet, as someone stalked angrily across the floor. The noises went on for a few more minutes, then silence fell. 

Confused, Alamys frowned into the darkness. What was happening? 

He spent half an hour in that uncertainty, before the door to the basement opened again, and Darth Nexus' bulk appeared at the top of the stairs. Alamys tensed involuntarily, when the lights clicked on. Though Sidious was more dangerous, he feared Nexus more, because of his uncontrolled emotions and his brutality. The Whiphid descended the stairs slowly, his heavy body making the staircase vibrate ever so slightly. He paused for a moment at the bottom of the flight, studying the Jedi Master coolly. Then a cruel smile lit up his features and he came forward slowly, obviously relishing Alamys' growing fear. The Jedi tried to remain composed, but his face was twitching ominously in a suppressed grimace of terror. He could not help himself, even though his pride fought hard to remain superior. It was frustrating and infuriating. Finally, with Alamys having risen into a half-crouch that would allow him to a bit of room to escape, should Nexus attack, the Sith Master came to a halt in front of him.

"He is gone. An urgent call from Naboo," Nexus began without preamble.

Alamys wetted his lips nervously. "Your doing?" he asked, suspicious.

"Of course. His political career means a lot to him. He believes it will be his road to glory."  


"A valid argument." 

"You think so?"

Alamys started trembling ever so slightly as Nexus bent closer, his small, mean eyes more level with his own now. He hated himself for that fear, that had never bothered him previously. Never before had he felt such terror, such helplessness. But he refused to crack just now, refused to succumb to gibbering madness that threatened to overwhelm his weakened mind and body constantly. It was exactly that which Nexus wanted to achieve. To break him, and reshape his will. After a few minutes longer of his intense study of the Jedi Master, Nexus turned away wordlessly and left again. Shoulders sagging in relief, Alamys dropped back to the floor. His entire body was shaking with fatigue, fear and simple despair. Time was running out on him, and he prayed that whatever Nexus was planning, it would be soon.

Serenno was a beautiful world, with a pristine landscape featuring lots of forests and mountain ranges. In one of those the Counts of Serenno resided in a fortress-like mansion that was both serene and menacing, Qui-Gon had always found. Dooku had brought him here on numerous occasions during his apprenticeship, and he knew his way around. Settling his starfighter onto the landing platform at the top of the fortress, Qui-Gon felt a strange sensation of homecoming. His heart light, he exited the ship and started toward the far door. Overhead the sky had turned dark, and in the distance thunder rolled across the valleys. Already a faint wind was rippling through the surrounding trees, making them whisper and rustle mysteriously. It fitted the castle itself, certainly, and it reminded Qui-Gon of fairy-tales meant to frighten little children. But he was neither a child nor easily scared. 

The door opened upon his approach, and a liveried servant bowed toward him as he bade him to come in. "Master Qui-Gon, Mistress Aloura is already waiting for you."

"Count Dooku is not home, then?"

"No, sir, he is not, unfortunately. I am certain he would have been happy to receive you personally."  


"I suppose he would," Qui-Gon murmured, less convinced than the servant. 

Following the man, he walked across the gallery that ran almost the entire length of the castle and allowed one to gaze through a masterfully carved wooden paravent down into the giant foyer. Qui-Gon heard the crackling of burning logs, and the smell of wood-fire confirmed his conclusion, that Aloura would be waiting for him at the large stone fire-place that dominated the centermost wall of the foyer. Memories filled his mind unbidden, then, remembering his first encounter with the castle's beautiful housekeeper. He had come to know her much better over time, but their encounters had been scarce over the past three years, their relationship cooling somewhat. Now they were no more than good friends, Qui-Gon thought. And yet, as he stepped off the last stair onto the foyer floor, seeing Aloura again, he thought that she had not changed one bit. 

Dressed in a long, dark blue robe, her brown hair falling loosely over her shoulders, she stood beside her high-backed chair by the fire-place, a warm smile on her face. Time had not diminished her beauty at all, though the was almost twice as old as Qui-Gon. Clearing his throat, he sketched a small bow toward her. 

"Mistress Aloura, thank you for taking me in this late at night."

She gave a throaty laugh. "I remember times – " She broke off, as if remembering something, then motioned for him to come closer. "Qui-Gon Jinn. It has been a long time. Please, take a seat. Maney, we will have tea," she ordered the servant, who obediently took off.

The Jedi Knight settled into one of the comfortable chairs, waiting for her to seat herself too, before he spoke. "I was rather hoping to find Count Dooku here," he confessed. 

"Ah." Aloura's smile faltered. She absent-mindedly took the cup the returning servant handed her and blew on the hot tea to cool it a bit before she drank delicately. "Then you will be leaving right away, knowing that he is not here?"

His throat constricted suddenly. "I – I really need to speak to him. It is urgent."

"Very well." She put the cup on the small table beside her. "He has left Serenno only two days ago, destined for Telos."  


Qui-Gon carefully confirmed the sincerity of her statement, and found that she was telling him the truth. He felt strangely relieved, as if it weren't the most natural thing in the world that friends did not lie to one another, Gloomily he thought that Alamys Jorka's accusations had planted a seed of suspicion in his heart that he would now be rather rid of again. It was distracting. And he felt he could tell Aloura anything at all. 

"Can you tell me what he means to do on Telos?"

"Why do you ask?" she inquired, eyes narrowing, and Qui-Gon felt that subtle rebuke like a stab to his heart. Obviously Aloura did not share his sentiments concerning trust. 

"I – I am not sure. The Order is a bit concerned, because it seems as if two Jedi Master's have disappeared quite recently. One is Master Alamys Jorka, the other Count Dooku."

Aloura shook her head with a smile. "Disappeared? All it would have taken was a simple call to confirm where he was going, is that not so?"

"It is just that he left without telling anyone where he was going."

"As far as I understand, as an outsider, the Jedi have duties toward the Order, but are not its slaves. Count Dooku is a free man, is he not?"

"Certainly," Qui-Gon hurried to appease her. 

She shrugged. "Then perhaps Master Jorka will resurface too, in time."

"I do not think so." Rising slowly, Qui-Gon felt suddenly very sad. He had suspected his former mentor without any reason at all, it seemed. Still, he had promised Master Yoda to track him down. Which he would do. 

Aloura followed his example more hurriedly, her large brown eyes worried. "I hope I have not offended you. You could stay overnight," she added quietly. "He will be staying on Telos for a while, I believe, plenty of time for you to catch up with him. And I imagine, if you called ahead, he might even wait for you there."

"I don't think so," Qui-Gon said again, feeling torn. "I'd rather leave now. I am sorry, Aloura. Another time, maybe."

She gave him a sad look, then nodded. "Maybe."

"Wake up."  


The stink of alcohol was enough to jolt Alamys out of his already restless slumber, and he jerked upright abruptly, only to find his right arm being seized by Nexus' large paw. Dragging him upright with frightening ease, the Whiphid started toward the stairs. His entire body was wrapped in brandy fumes, making Alamys gag involuntarily. 

"You won't believe it," Nexus breathed joyfully, and what Alamys could sense from him was disturbing, a cloud of happiness and elation. 

Stumbling after the Whiphid, the Jedi Master tried to break from the Sith's grasp, but Nexus' fingers did not even budge. "What is it?" Alamys asked hoarsely, and his stomach almost revolted at the delicious smell of warm food that permeated the air upstairs, reminding him all too acutely of the fact that he had not eaten in days. The hunger even drowned out his fear of Nexus. 

"You'll see. You'll like it, I know," Nexus replied in a slurred voice, testimony to his drunken state. "Are you hungry?" He let go of Alamys' arm and nodded toward a table set with a single plate, fork and spoon. The plate was filled with various dishes, and the sight alone made Alamys' stomach rumble loudly, but the smell! Nexus laughed out loud. "I know you want it, and you will get it, but first I want you to do something for me."  


It took a supreme effort to drag his eyes away from the table, but Alamys managed, his heart filled with suspicion. Nexus beckoned to him, smiling, and for the first time that day the Jedi Master got a good look at the Whiphid's small eyes. They were gleaming with alcohol and fervor. Taking a step back, Alamys tensed even more. Something wasn't right. He threw a longing glance at the food, but forced himself to assess the layout of the room, only to find that Nexus was standing inbetween both doors, blocking any escape route. 

"You want to eat, don't you?" Nexus asked, his rough voice almost sweet. 

Alamys felt repulsed at the way the Sith treated him, as if he were some animal who would perform a trick for a piece of meat. Retreating further, he let his eyes track the room again, still searching for another exit. Nexus took a drunken step to the left, raising his arms ever so slightly, anticipating Alamys' thoughts.

"You won't get away. Better to arrange yourself with fate," the Sith Master purred. "It won't take long, you'll see."

Alamys started a sprint for the far door, not the one that led back into the basement. In the last possible moment he twisted out of the way of Nexus' groping paws, and threw the door open, plunging through blinded by a desperate need to just get away. His eyes bulged when he found himself in a white-tiled room that practically screamed 'laboratory'. Too late he realized that Nexus had trapped him. Whirling around again, he found the Whiphid's bulky frame blocking the door, and a moment later the two of them stood locked into the laboratory. Bereft of any hope of escape Alamys stood paralysed, helplessly staring at the huge alien looming over him, He was shaking with exhaustion, and realized that he would eventually have to bow to fate, just as Nexus had suggested. Smiling, the Sith Master walked over to a transparisteel cask filled with what looked like blood. 

"The Motha Virus," Nexus said lovingly. "I finally made it, thanks to her." 

Here he nodded at the remains of Inyo Di'vitt, which rested on a table against the wall. Her body had been cut open in numerous places, revealing shrunken tendons, muscle and organs, and the sight and smell prompted Alamys to bend over and empty his stomach. When he could think straight again he found Nexus standing beside him, a syringe held in one large hand. It was filled with a dark red liquid, and it took no genius to realize what that was. Fueled by sheer dread, Alamys' body jerked back out of its own accord, yet Nexus was faster, despite the state he was in. 

"Calm down. It won't hurt, I promise. Cease your struggles now and you will get some food as reward."

"You bastard!" Alamys exclaimed, trying to break his arm out of the other man's lock. 

With unnerving ease Nexus bent the Jedi Master's limb back and broke it neatly. Alamys almost fainted, his face turning as white as the laboratory's walls. He dropped to his knees, hanging helplessly in Nexus' grasp. The Whiphid's eyes narrowed, and he gently bit down on his own tongue, concentrating. Alamys watched the syringe's sharp needle sink into his own flesh, unable to prevent it. The red liquid was driven out of the syringe and into his bloodstream, and he could do nothing but look on as the virus was transferred into his system. Only a fingerbreadth of the liquid remained in the syringe, when Nexus, who had drunkenly been swaying ever so slightly, as he had focused on the injection, stumbled back, and slipped on Alamys' vomit, ripping the needle out of the Jedi Master's flesh as he went. Reacting with his old speed and cunning, Alamys brought his left fist down hard on the Sith Master's wrist, driving the syringe's needle deeply into Nexus' thigh, emptying its contents into the alien's leg in one go. Nexus reared back, eyes wide, and his fearful wail pierced Alamys' ears, driving him almost over the brink.

"Noooooooo!"

Alamys did not spare another moment on the frantic Sith Master, who kept on screaming in panic. Turning away from Nexus, he made for the door and found it opening on the second try. Faint with pain and fatigue, he did not even stop to shovel down the food that was gradually cooling on the table. He stumbled through the house, not really seeing or caring where he was going. He only wanted out. When he finally staggered out into the open, fresh, salty ocean spray spread over his face, and he took a deep, needed breath. Free! He was free! Alamys forced himself to go on, ignoring his weakness and pain, and gradually he managed to focus again, drawing strength from his surroundings. The Force was his ally, and he had broken from his prison of despair to find that light again. Nothing could stand in his way to freedom now. He set his jaw grimly. Well, there was one thing, but perhaps he would find a way to combat the virus. Perhaps he was not lost yet. 

TBC


	8. Seeds of doubt

Darth Sidious was not amused. The 'urgent' affair he had been called back to Naboo for had turned out to be a void matter by the time he had arrived there. Only belatedly had he even considered that Darth Nexus might not be as stupid as it always seemed. His master must have sent him away deliberately. Suddenly Alamys Jorka's warning burned hotly in the apprentice's mind. What the hell was the Whiphid up to? Settling the Sith Inflitrator he had borrowed for the trip into the house's own small landing bay, Sidious was fuming, and took to scanning the surroundings at once. He could sense only one being inside. Nexus. Storming down the ship's landing ramp, the Sith apprentice made his way into the living-quarters, but Nexus was not there. For a moment Sidious stood still in the midst of the living-room, where the table had been set with a single plate, fork and spoon. The stench of decomposing, mouldy foodstuffs permeated the entire room. 

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Sidious stalked toward the laboratory and found the white walls smeared with now congealed blood, and the precious cask Nexus had had prepared to hold the virus lay smashed on the floor. Of Inyo Di'vitt's body only shreds remained, scattered all over the laboratory. Very slowly a smile crept onto the Sith apprentice's lips. So, Nexus' little experiments obviously had not been as successful as the Sith Master had hoped. The fact that Nexus was the only one alive except for Sidious could only mean that Nexus had vented his frustration on the hapless Jedi. A pity. Grinning hard, Sidious pinpointed his master's current location and frowned. What was he doing in the basement? He opened the door cautiously. 

Pitch-black darkness greeted him, and from that darkness rose the smell of brandy fumes as well as pitiful wails of mourning. He almost slammed the door shut again, so disgusted was he. But then his anger took over. With a slap he activated the lights, which came alive one by one, mercilessly revealing the basement in all its blank, boring glory of light grey walls, ceiling and floor. Sidious took the stairs one at a time, slowly, deliberately, yet his eyes were fixed on the pitiful creature that had huddled down in the midst of the basement, eyes covered beneath huge clawed paws. Empty bottles and other containers lay spread all around the whimpering Whiphid, and Sidious kicked them aside casually as he walked closer. His anger turned into cool contempt and an elating feeling of superiority. Finally he stopped, two paces away, and put one hand on his hip in an unmistakable challenge.

"What do you want!" Nexus snarled, looking up at his apprentice through blood-shot little eyes that harbored a madness Sidious had never seen in them before. For a moment the young man's confidence wavered.

"Where is Jorka?"

"Gone! Gone! That filthy son of a bitch!"

Frowning, Sidious went down on his haunches to gaze directly at his master. He frowned. "You let him go?"

"Hah!" The Whiphid shrugged powerful shoulders, but it was a sad, impotent gesture.

"So he got away," Sidious concluded, calm once more. For a long time he simply stared at Nexus, his thoughts idle. Alamys Jorka was gone. The one and only who knew of their existence, a Jedi Master, of all people. And Nexus had let him get away, probably too drunk again to even realize the dangers of that escape. Realization had come later, Sidious guessed, which was why Nexus was now trying to drown his worries in brandy. Pitiful, and disgusting.

"You thought yourself so clever, didn't you," Sidious began in almost a whisper. "Sending me away to have free reign, never realizing that your precious Jedi was far from broken. There is a lot of fight left in him, and you let him get away. But now I am back, master," he hissed. "And I won't be leaving too soon."

Alamys had been on the move for days, until he had realized where he was. Zelos II. He had been here before, on an assignment, and he knew people, who might help him. First priority was getting away, to Coruscant, to report all this to the Council. Now he sat in the kitchen of a small local eatery, his right arm bandaged and splinted inadvertedly, and endured the curious glances of the kitchen staff while Mava Rhan, the eatery's proprietor and fleeting acquaintance of the Jedi Master, was trying to stuff even more food down his throat. It was hard fending her off with just one good arm, though. 

"No, eat you will more, Alamys Jorka. You look too pale, too thin," she kept on insisting. She was right, he knew. "A fever you have too," she added reproachfully. "Are the clothes warm enough?"  


Alamys nodded mutely, swallowing another spoonful of shellfish stew. She had been just slightly shocked to find him waiting in the shadowy hallway of her house, naked, bruised and covered in blood. And she had not asked any questions. Yet. He hoped she never would. He could not believe anything of this himself. He simply wanted to forget everything that had happened over the past days. He did not even know for how long he had been imprisoned. But the memories were there all the time. The fear, the sorrow, the despair. And always that terror nagging at the back of his mind, that he had been infected with the Motha Virus, that he would go insane eventually. That his only chance was to give up the Force. 

He swallowed the mouthful of stew slowly, not really tasting it. "Delicious," he breathed, only barely noticing Mava's questioning glance. Then he looked directly at her, his piercing blue eyes making her flinch. "I need a ship," he said hoarsely. "Or a ride."

Mava grunted loudly. "Much to ask. Even for a Jedi Master. A lot of bounty-hunters around these days. I suppose you would not want to run into one of them," she added meaningfully. 

Alamys kept his features blank. "I am a Jedi Master, Mava."

"You don't look like one right now," the woman told him amiably. "And my guess is that you'll want to keep a low profile until you have reached Coruscant."  
  
"Mava, you must be a Jedi yourself," he answered with a coughing laugh. 

"No, just sister to one of the most notorious smugglers of the system, remember?"

"I remember," Alamys replied gloomily. "Is his sentence up yet?"

"Yesterday," she sighed, wiping down the table top unnecessarily. "He'll come home today."

"Then I should probably be leaving," Alamys growled. "He won't be pleased to find me here." When he started to rise Mava did not stop him. He stood on somewhat shaky legs, still feeling weak, and regarded her in earnest gratitude. "Thank you for everything, Mava. I'll send you a recompensation from Coruscant."

"We're friends, Alamys Jorka. There's no charge for friendship except what you've already given to me."

He nodded, a small smile on his lips. "Thank you."

"Take care." 

She went forward to press a hand over the patch they had covered his burned face with. More patches concealed even more wounds, among them the half-healed one in his abdomen. Mava was right. He didn't look like a Jedi Master right now, dressed in a coarse woollen tunic and washed-out blank pants. Mava handed him a dark green cloak she had found for him, and he put it on, drawing the hood deep into his face. 

"I owe you," he said at last, then turned to leave. 

He was totally surprised when the back-door crashed open, admitting darkness into the small kitchen. Sidious. For a moment Alamys panicked. But then he reacted instantly, and was just in time to evade the Sith Lord, who activated his lightsaber with a loud hum that even drowned out Mava's shrieks. The table was severed by Sidious' first stroke, and Alamys crashed to the floor, scrambling to get out of the way. But the Sith's boot came down hard on his left calf, numbing it in a flash of pain. 

"Friends of yours?" Sidious asked calmly, his weapon swinging toward Mava and her staff. "A shame that I'll have to kill them now."

"Go!" Mava yelled, a huge cleaver held in her hand. "Alamys!"

He had no chance to stand up to Sidious, not in the state he was in. And even if he chose to fight he would lose, and Mava would still be dead. With tears in his eyes he made for the door, while behind him chaos swallowed everything.

Getting to Telos had been a relatively short trip, and now Qui-Gon found himself being directed toward one of the landing pads of the planet's major spaceport. He did not expect that there would be a welcome committee, and there wasn't one. The Jedi Knight threw a glancing look at the other newcomers and weighted his options. He might try to track Dooku through port authority, or else he could make this a surprise visit and ask to be received at the Crion Estate, where he suspected his former mentor to be. Crion, the wealthiest man on Telos, probably, had been a business partner for the Count's ventures frequently. Suspicion warred with honesty and trust, but in the end suspicion won out, and Qu-Gon again cursed Alamys Jorka's poisonous words. If anyone was twisting the teachings of the Jedi around it was the Tyreenese Jedi Master. Forgiveness was as alien to the man as dishonesty, and he did not make any friends with that approach. Of course, that had never been his goal. Jorka was a slave to duty, nothing else

Marching off toward a speeder rental, Qui-Gon felt angry with himself, that he was unable to overcome the paralysis of doubt. Unable or unwilling. He suspected it was both, and that was even more frightening than bowing to a Jedi Master's cold wisdom. Twenty minutes later he had rented a small speeder and was driving hard toward the estate, brooding darkly. He had no idea whether Alamys Jorka was even still alive. Not with Leevar Halcyon dead on Corellia. Suddenly Qui-Gon felt guilty. Perhaps he was doing Master Jorka wrong, perhaps he had had his reasons to suspect Dooku. And yet, if Dooku was on Telos, he could hardly be responsible for Jorka's disappearance on Corellia, could he? Qui-Gon suppressed an annoyed grunt as he drove up to the estate's well-guarded gate and exited the speeder. One of the security officers standing watch approached him. 

"Identify yourself," the man ordered.

"My name is Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Knight. I would like to speak to Count Dooku, who currently is a guest of the house."

The guard stared at him for a moment, then turned toward his collegue. The two of them conversed in low voices before th one who had addressed Qui-Gon first returned. "I am sorry having to inform you that Count Dooku is not a guest of the house at the moment. In fact, I am told that he has not been here for several months."

"Oh." Qui-Gon's face fell. "Then I suppose I have been misinformed. I am sorry having trespassed on your time." Just as he made as if to walk back to his speeder and leave, the second guard hurried back from where he had been speaking into a comm untit inside the guard house. 

"Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn," the man said hurriedly. "Master Crion would receive you now, if you wish."  


So, either Crion knew where Dooku was and merely meant to help, or else there was something different behind this. Smiling politely, Qui-Gon nodded. "Thank you. I would appreciate that offer."

"Then follow us, please. This way."

Returning to the safe-house, Sidious was fuming. Alamys Jorka had gotten away. It had been impossible for the Sith apprentice to find the Jedi Master among the rabble at the space-port, and he could hardly hold up outbound traffic. With that initial attack foiled, Sidious had to find another way to prevent Jorka from getting his message to Coruscant. Besides, he had not wanted to risk staying in the vicinity of the eatery, which he had set ablaze after eliminating any possible witnesses. He let the door crash shut behind him, then stalked into the living-room, where Nexus was seated at the table, cleaned up and more or less sober, by the look of him. Sidious ignored him. He had been forced to reconstruct the Jedi Master's flight himself, since Nexus was unwilling to speak a single word with him, out of indignation, possibly. So, Jorka had somehow overwhelmed the Sith Master, cut the doctor's body to shreds and destroyed the blood-cask for good measure, before he had left. But why had he refrained from killing the Whiphid? 

Not because he was feeling merciful, Sidious thought, not that Jedi. The Sith apprentice retrieved his last possessions from his room and carried them back to the ship. They had to leave. But first, he needed to contact a few friends. All the while, as Sidious prepared for their departure, he was filled with contempt for his master, who had proven his stupidity for the very last time. The Whiphid was a model example for the shortcomings of any nonhuman species. He was impulsive, intellectually challenged on most occasions and undisciplined. At least Sidious himself would have killed Jorka back on Corellia first thing after retrieving Inyo Di'vitt's body. On his way through the living-room, Sidious frowned at the mute Whiphid, who was staring blankly into the distance What to do? Kill him now? Sidious scoffed at that. An unworthy ending for an unworthy master, to be executed for such a failure. No. He would not sully his hands on the blood of such a despicable creature. 

Suddenly Nexus glanced up at him, his small eyes narrowed in confusion. Recongition came only gradually, and then he merely gave a grunt of acknowledgement. Storming off, Sidious had to really control himself. He should simply leave the Whiphid somewhere to die. Unfortunately that was no real option. He was pretty certain that Nexus would find a way to get away from anywhere Sidious might put him. Settling the last crate of supplies into the ship's hold, Sidious straightened, his thoughts congealing into one: Darth Nexus had taken great pelasure in torturing Jorka, and he would not have tolerated the Jedi to get the better of him and then escape, especially not after having destroyed his precious equipment. He frowned. What if – Licking his lips nervously, Sidious felt sweat accumulate on his forehead. What if Nexus had indeed managed to retrieve the virus, and Jorka had somehow managed to infect him with it?

When he returned to the house for the last time he discreetly started searching for some sort of syringe, anything. When his efforts yielded no result he finally decided to try and talk with Nexus again. Seating himself opposite form the Sith Master, Sidious folded his hands on the table top and regarded the Whiphid earnestly. 

"Master, I know I should be punished for my failure in bringing Alamys Jorka down when I had the chance."

Nexus glanced up again, and a flash of suspicion crossed his pupils. Sidious almost started. "Failure? We are all guilty of failure, sometimes," the Whiphid breathed.

"The virus," Sidious began anew. "You had it isolated?"

Nexus reacted with characteristic fury and violence. Rising from his seat he hurled the table at the unsuspecting apprentice, who barely got out of the way before the piece of furniture crashed against the wall. "I know exactly what you are planning!" the Whiphid roared. "But you mistake me for easy prey, Sidious!" He came toward the younger Sith like a small mountain of anger, his heavy body thundering across the floor as he charged. 

For a moment Sidious felt his throat constrict in fear, and he simply stood, eyes wide, watching the Sith Master come at him, his mouth foaming with spittle. It was that beastial image that tore him out of his paralysis again, and he stepped aside, simultaneously pushing the door to the basement open. Nexus' momentum carried him forward unstoppably. Sidious did not even watch as the Whiphid's heavy body hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs, but the loud crack of his neck breaking was all Sidious needed to hear, before a blast of darkness filled the cellar with an eerie bluish fire. For a moment Sidious was wrapped in the backwash of that power, standing very still. He had no proof, only suspicions. And those would not get him very far. He needed to find Jorka again, and first of all he had to prevent him from getting to Coruscant. 

Following one of the guards into the estate's main building, an impressive complex that bore testimony to its owner's wealth and ego, the Jedi Knight felt slightly unsettled. He really wanted to know why Crion wanted to talk to him just now, and what he was going to tell him. The man must know that a Jedi would spot any lie he might attempt. So either Crion really did not know where Dooku was, or he wanted to help Qui-Gon find his former master. The guard showed him into an airy sitting-room, with a glass front overlooking the garden, and a glass ceiling opening the view into the blue sky. 

Three people were present in that room, two adult human men and a boy of perhaps six or seven years of age. Judging by the child's looks Qui-Gon had an easy time identifying the boy's father, especially since he knew that Crion had a young son, Xanatos. Qui-Gon smiled at the shorter of the two aults and gave the man a polite nod. 

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice," the Jedi Knight began politely.

"Take a seat, please," Crion told him and waved him into one of the high-backed chairs facing the garden. 

Though Qui-Gon primarily focused his attention on his host, since he was the one who could give him information, probably, he still shot a cursory glance at the other man, who was already seated. His white hair had been bound back into a severe braid that hung down his back almost to his shoulder-blades. That way his sharp features, softened a bit by age, were clearly visible. An old man, in his sixties, by the look of it, with pale green eyes that were strangely blank as Qui-Gon's gaze brushed across them. Crion noticed the Jedi Knight's look and introduced his other guest. 

"Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn, this is Blithe Arkad, a business partner of Cred Fessel. Mister Arkad, this is Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn." he Indicated the boy standing to his left. "My son, Xanatos."

"Pleased to meet you," the boy murmured. 

Crion joined his guests in the chairs. "So, you are looking for Count Dooku, is that so?"

"His staff informed me he would be here for a few days."  


"If he was on Telos, he did not announce his presence, at least not to me," Crion told him, and he seemed sincere. Blithe Arkad, his keen eyes seemingly never leaving Qui-Gon's features, pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"I do not know this Count Dooku," he explained, "but, if I may, you could simply hail his ship and ask to meet with him."

Qui-Gon smiled. "I had my reasons for approaching this the way I did, but that possibility becomes more an more appealing, I confess."

"Simple measures prove the most effective most of the time," Arkad added, leaning back in his seat. 

"And honesty?"

"Fact is," Crion chimed in, "that any covert search might put off a quarry that is actually a trusted friend. He was your mentor, after all."  


"True," Qui-Gon said with a nod. 

"Good. I was curious whether you might know what he wanted here, but I can see you are as ignorant as I am. Perhaps we should simply try and hail his ship. You could leave a message, couldn't you?"

Qui.-Gon suppressed a frown. "Certainly, yes." Why was Crion so eager to help? Did he also suspect Dooku of foul play? Why else would he want to see whether Qui-Gon knew of his former master's motives of coming to Telos?

"I will have my staff rig up a connection for you. If youw ill excuse me for a moment?" Rising from his seat, Crion nodded at Xanatos to follow. The two of them left, a highly impolite move by their host, and it made Qui-Gon wonder even harder what the man was up to.

Blithe Arkad, a smug smile lingering on his lips, was still gazing at the Jedi Knight. "Qui-Gon Jinn. So, Count Dooku was you master?"

"Obviously." He did not want to make conversation, especially not with someone who seemed to only wait to catch a Jedi Knight off guard and embarrass him.

"I heard the Jedi choose their apprentices very young. Are they given a choice at all when joining the Order?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Xanatos, Crion's boy, he is supposedly talented in that regard. The Order has been trying to get their hands on him for years now, so his father tells me. They would not stoop to kidnapping, would they?"

Qui-Gon's brows shot up in astonishment. "Is that what he thought I really wanted? What Dooku wanted?"

"Who knows what might move a father's heart?" Arkad offered lightly. 

"Indeed. How come he told you of his fears? You are a good friend of the family?"

"I hope so," Blithe answered with a small chuckle. "And I would hate to see the boy become slave of a bunch of egomaniacs."  


"Is that how you see the Jedi?"

"Yes. Don't you?"

Somehow the man's candor was refreshing, and Qui-Gon relaxed somewhat. "The Jedi certainly are not infallible," he admitted, "and a few of us have been outfitted with more of an ego than is appropriate, I assume."

"Your master, in what category does he fall, then?"

"Of those two? The second, I assume."

At that moment Crion stormed back into the sitting-room, looking concerned. "His ship doesn't answer any hailings," he announced, his face pale. "Perhaps something has happened to him."  


Qui-Gon could sense the sincere concern that permeated the older man's mind, and rose abruptly. "Master Yoda had asked me to investigate the recent disappearances of two Jedi Masters. Count Dooku is one of them. This confirms that he might also have fallen pey to some act of violence."  


"On Telos?" Crion asked, seemingly even more worried than before.

"All things are possible," Qui-Gon replied grimly, and Blithe Arkad gave a soft laugh in response. 

"Well put," he said, and likewise stood up. "Master Crion, we may want to conclude our business at another time. Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn, I wish you good luck on your hunt."

"Thank you for your assistance," Qui-Gon said, with a nod toward Crion. "And, if I may add, one of the Jedi Order's primary concerns is the guidance of children with special talents such as your son. If left unchecked, those powers can become very dangerous to himself and others."

Crion's expression cooled instantly. "Thank you for your concern, Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn." 

"My pleasure." 

As he turned to leave, Qui-Gon was considering that he may be have to be a bit more shrewd to penetrate this maze of uncertainty. What if Dooku wasn't missing, but had debriefed Aloura to send Qui-Gon to Telos while he himself went elsewhere? It were not Alamys Jorka's words that prompted that thought. Not any longer. Something was going on. And he'd better find out what that was fast.

TBC

PS: Thanks for the reviews! Always working on more story, just for you guys! 


	9. The journey begins

Captain Mager of the _Jolly Star_ had not been overly thrilled to have his ship boarded by a badly patched-up man claiming to be a Jedi Master with an urgent message for Coruscant. He had demanded up-front payment, which Alamys had been unable to give, but with a little persuasion he had managed to get Mager to take him on board anyway. Just in time too. Evading Sidious in the space-port had been relatively easy, with so many people milling about, and with a master's skill of keeping his mind tranquil. And yet, with so many recent deaths lingering with the Sith Lord's presence, Alamys had had a hard time of retaining that needed calm. He kept his fury bottled inside himself, his grief sheltered deep within his heart. There was nothing he could do now anyway, and by getting his message to Coruscant he might be able to prevent further harm from happening. His right arm carried in a sling, he was hobbling after a Devaroian who was supposed to take him to his cabin.

The _Jolly Star_ was crawling toward her jump-point steadily, when a blast of darkness rose from the planet, seemingly engulfing everything. Alamys choked on that darkness, feeling it claw into his mind with icy determination, and he felt helpless against it for just a moment. When it was over he slumped against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. If he was any judge it would have been Nexus who had just perished, probably slain for his failure by his own apprentice. Sidious had not struck him at particularly merciful concerning failure, and with Nexus having been infected with the Motha Virus, the younger Sith would have considered it a lesser risk to take on his master now than later. 

"Are you okay?" someone asked in a slurred voice, and the Jedi Master opened his eyes again to gaze up at the Devaronian. The alien bared prominent fangs in a smile.

"Thank you, yes," Alamys breathed and gratefully took the offered hand. "Just a dizzy spell."

In fact, his head was not only spinning, but also hurting like mad. Cold sweat threatened to break on his forehead as he recalled the list of symptoms associated with the Motha Virus. Mava had diagnosed him with fever, and now headaches and dizzyness were breaking through too. Next would be aching muscles, paranoia, constant thirst and in the end bones that were so fragile that they would shatter like glass at the slightest pressure. Alamys felt all blood drain from his face, and the Devaronian hurriedly went to steady him. Propelling the Jedi Master toward the passenger cabin, the alien was shaking his head and muttering to himself. He placed Alamys on the single bunk and gazed at him thoughtfully. 

"I don't know what happened to you, you understand," he said, "but if I were you, I'd go see a medic real soon."

Alamys gave a weak smile. "I will, don't worry."

"Guess you should catch some sleep for now, eh?" 

"Yes." 

But the Devaronian was already gone. Closing his eyes, Alamys felt his chest tighten with worry. He could not use the Force to heal himself, he knew, but could he use the Force at all, without accelerating the virus' growth? It felt right, somehow, and so, tentatively, he drew sleep around himself like a blanket, forcing his body to relax and his heart-beat to slow somewhat. He would get to Coruscant and talk to Master Yoda. He would tell them of the Sith on Zelos II, and the virus. Alamys shivered ever so slightly. Then darkness overwhelmed him at last.

With the ship bound for Naboo and locked in hyperspace, there was not much Sidious could do safe letting his thoughts wander over the most recent events. Nexus' death certainly had not come unexpected, and he surely did not mourn his former master. The only thing he regretted was that he had not leaned enough yet. He knew that there was more out there, that the Dark Side was much grander, much more powerful than what the Whiphid had taught him. Had to be. After all, had he not chosen that path for exactly the reason of exploring the power of darkness? Corruption, manipulation, greed and fear were all elements that he knew commanded most sentient beings' actions far better than those so-called light side powers. But Darth Nexus had not been able to bring that across. He had been content with exploiting his apprentice's power and knowledge for his own ends, his lessons sporadic and half-heartedly done. 

Darth Sidious had been raised on Naboo, though. And on Naboo only the best and brightest rose to power. He wanted to be the best of the best, the brightest of the brightest, the most powerful of the powerful. Naboo politics bred ambition just as they bred wisdom. But wisdom was for those who lost to the top of the pack and had no other choice but to cultivate just that. Ambition and perfection was what would get one _to_ the top. No, Sidious' apprenticeship had not yet ended, not before _he_ knew that he was master. And, unfortunately, that feeling he had not just yet. Grimacing slightly, Sidious rose from his seat in the cockpit and walked back into the rec-area. It still reeked of brandy, an unwelcome reminder of the late Darth Nexus. Unbidden, Sidious' gaze was drawn to the small corner where they had kept Jorka on their way to Zelos II. Though a pathetic Jedi to the bone, the man had also been a master, undoubtedly. Sidious still felt envious as he remembered the ease and determination with which Alamys Jorka had confronted them back on Corellia, unafraid, sure of himself and utterly in control of the situation. Well. Almost in control. 

Again doubts gushed Sidious' mind. A man as thorough as Alamys Jorka was would not have let Nexus live. Never. Then the truth hit him. It had not been Nexus, who had been infected with the virus, but the Jedi Master. That had been Nexus' plan all along, to continue Inyo Di'vitt's experiments. Well, well, well. This would change the situation immensely, if it were true. He had already set an alert in the appropriate channels, and if Alamys Jorka was spotted, he would be apprehended. Sidious smiled. As far as he had been able to tell, the paranoia was the first symptom that struck the victim, and in this case that was actually perfect. Jorka would soon find that he could not trust his friends on Coruscant after all. And with a little motivation he would be discouraged from spreading his story at all, until Sidious could find him again and bring him down. He laughed out loud. So, Alamys Jorka was caught in a web tighter than even Sidious could have spun it. He would be no problem. And that meant that the Sith Lord himself could return to his studies unpertubed. He frowned. 

A hand slipped into the pocket of his cloak and closed around the holocron. There had to be a way to fool the gatekeeper into accepting him as Jedi, so he could exploit the knowledge stored inside the cube. Yes, it was Jedi lore, and no, he was no Jedi, never would be or desired to be, but perhaps he could still make use of the teachings stored within Master Jeldo's holocron. Somehow. 

Alamys woke disoriented to the sound of some sort of alarm, and found that he had been plunged into a nightmare. Red emergency light bathed his small cabin in an eerie glow and he could barely see. Trying to work some moisture into his dry mouth he rose sluggishly and was thrown back onto his bunk when something impacted against the ship, shaking it hard. Suddenly the door to his cabin whooshed open and Captain Mager appeared, wild-eyed and reeking of fear. With determination Alamys struggled upright again, and a lance of pain stabbed down the entire length of his right thigh. Suppressing a wince, the Jedi Master gave the captain a nod. 

"We are under attack?"

"Pirates!" Mager snapped. "If you really are who you claim to be you must help us!"

Alamys gave the man a cold glance, then pushed past him into the corridor, saying: "I will see what I can do."

The Devaronian, who had helped him to his cabin previously, followed Alamys and Mager to the bridge and wordlessly handed the Jedi Master a drinking container which he took thankfully. After a few sips to wet his parched throat, Alamys asked:

"How many ships?"

"Two Kaloth cruisers. They have an inderdiction field up," Mager groaned. 

That was bad. An interdiction field would prevent the _Jolly Star_ from making an escape into hyperspace, and if they were stranded somewhere in the middle of nowhere, that would mean that there wouldn't be any help coming either, if Mager's people had managed to get a call through at all.

"What kind of cargo are you packing, Captain Mager?"

The man glowered at him as they entered the bridge. "Foodstuffs from Ryloth."

"And inofficially?" Alamys asked, unimpressed. When Mager grimaced in disdain, he continued: "Listen, I must know what they are after so I can negotiate with them. Have you tried to get an emergency message across the ether, or are they jamming communications?"

"Jamming."  
  
"Marvelous." Not that he had expected anything else. "All right. So, what's the inofficial cargo? Spice for the Core?"

Mager, realizing their situation at last, nodded. "Yeah. From Durga's clan." 

The captain flinched back at the look that passed across Alamys' face. "Durga, is it? Thank you. That might help." Looking around searchingly he added: "Where's the comm unit?"

An elderly Twi'lek waved at him from a ready station. "Over here!"

Alamys was thankful that the _Jolly Star_ did not pack holo-equipment. It would not have made a very godd impression to appear before those pirates as patched up as he was. He needed to project strength and confidence toward their leader if he was going to achieve anything here. And, of course, Mager had to be prepared to part with his official cargo, if necessary. 

"Where are we, exactly?" he asked Mager, whose expression had turned a bit more optimistic. 

"More or less in the middle of nowhere. Closest planet is Tynna, and if they didn't threaten to blow us into scraps I'd try to go there."

"I see," the Jedi Master replied. Just as he had feared. Still, this meant they were in Bothan Space, on the Mid Rim. Responding to his nod, the Twi'lek handed him a head-set, and Alamys motioned for him to take the call off hold. 

"This is Alamys Jorka speaking," he declared, his deep voice booming into the comm with unbridled force. To any spectator the transformation he underwent then was very visible. Where he had looked weak and slightly worried before, he was now standing straight, his height and stance combining into a confident pose that the pirates could not see, of course, but it helped Alamys to boost what came across the ether. _I need a comlink_, he mouthed at the Twi'lek, urging him to hurry.

"Yeah, yeah," a voice replied after a few moments, sounding nasty and amused. "Captain 'Meager' already told us he had a Jedi Master on board to assist him. Seems as if you aren't up to much more than talk, though. Good for us." Alamys kept silent, and for thirty seconds waited for the other man to react to that silence, which he did. "Hello? You still there?" All smug amusement had faded from his tone, and turned into annoyance.

The Twi'lek handed the requested comlink over to Alamys, who popped the back of it open with his good hand. He had seen that same trick used by Mava's brother, Tekko Rahn, and it had almost cost Alamys his head when the pirate had managed to summon help despite the Jedi Master's jamming his ship's comm. Time to call in a few favors. While he started fiddling with the comlink's innards, he said: 

"I am still here, as you can undoubtedly see, whoever you are. Now. Let's talk. You are engaging in illegal and criminal restraint of trade in Republic space, and I am authorized to report you and your activities to the local law enforcement office, which I believe is located on Bothawui."

"Too bad we're jamming your comm," the unknown pirate retorted.

"Too bad, yes. What are your plans form here on?"

"Easy. We're going to board you, space the crew and sell what you've got in your cargo holds. Standard procedure," he added helpfully.

"Just what I feared," Alamys sighed. "Captain _Mager_ informed me just what cargo he has loaded. Are you certain you want to be found selling Durga his own stuff back? He wouldn't be pleased, that I know for certain." Especially now that Alamys had alerted the Hutt to the theft in progress.

"We're not stupid. We can sell it elsewhere."

He should have known that the man wouldn't be that easily frightened. "I wouldn't count on it. If you don't want more trouble you'll leave the _Jolly Star_ alone." There was no answer, and for quite some time Alamys thought that the pirate had decided to let the Kaloth's guns speak after all. He had a very bad feeling all of a sudden, and that intensified when the nameless pirate's voice came back and asked:

"Alamys Jorka, you said?"

"Yes."

The next moment the Kaloth cruisers _did_ open fire.

Qui-Gon had settled his rented speeder into a depression in the forest, outside the fortress' detectors' range. Now he was making his way up to the castle from the cliff-side, where the detectors were weaker, as he knew very well. He wanted to surprise Aloura, and confront her about her lie concerning Dooku's supposed voyage to Telos. It was heavy going, with rain pouring down from the grey morning sky and hard winds tearing at him. It was fall in the region, with all the nasty storms that accompanied it here on Serenno. 

Once the Jedi Knight had reached the castle's foundation walls he made his way around and into the garden surrounding it, where he knew he would find assistance in getting into the building unannounced. As expected, Falaryn Miska, the castle's old gardener, was already up and busy in the greenhouses of the compound. Qui-Gon entered with a smile and breathed the fragrant scent of just awakening flowers deeply. 

"Who's there?" Falaryn may be old, but he protected his flowers like a young mother-hen.

"It's Qui-Gon Jinn!" the Jedi Knight called back.

Falaryn came around one of the lush plants, stooped and slow, but his face lit up at seeing the younger man. "Oh! It is you, Master Qui-Gon! I did not know you were staying with us!"

Qui-Gon smiled. "It is a surprise," he told the gardener conspiratively. "But I need someone to let me into the house. Can I count on you?"

"Certainly! Mistress Aloura will be happy to see you again, I assume."

Qui-Gon doubted that very strongly. Keeping his features unconspicuously calm, trying not to show his disappointment and fleeting anger, he followed Falaryn through the dripping orchard and to a small gate set into the wall of the castle. The gardener let Qui-Gon in with a shy smile, and, once inside, the Jedi Knight shook off his soaked cloak. As far as he could tell he was in the basement. Wandering through the dark hallways, he found a set of stairs and followed it up, into the kitchens, where a few droids were just beginning preparations for the morning meal. They didn't spare the intruder any attention. Unmolested, Qui-Gon walked onward, uncertain of what to do. He could wait for Aloura to rise, or wake her, or he could snoop around her office for clues. Rejecting the second and third option, he made for the foyer, where a fire was already burning in the hearth. 

He stared at the flames, frowning. Could it be that Aloura was up already? Qui-Gon turned toward the stairs and made his way to the upper floor, where he knew the offices and administrative staff were housed. Indeed, he could hear voices from Dooku's own office. Perhaps the count had already returned. Qui-Gon gently gave the door a push, and it slowly swung inward, allowing him to look into the room. He saw Aloura, dressed in a morning robe, her back to him, facing her master, or at least a hologram of him. For a moment the young Jedi Knight held his breath. But no, Dooku could not see him, he was outside the transmission field. Keeping very still, he resolved to listen.

"I understand your concern, Aloura," Dooku was just saying, "and your unwillingness to lie to a friend, but it is imperative that I conclude this journey unmolested."  


"Then you will be returning to Coruscant afterward?" she asked, sounding genuinely worried. "They seem to be concerned for your well-being."  


The count inclined his head gravely. "With what you told me that is understandable. I do hope that Qui-Gon will find Master Jorka alive. I may have no liking for the man, but he is a good Jedi, an apt mediator and tactician."

"What if Qui-Gon returns? What should I tell him?"

"Tell him that I regret having had to order you to act against your nature and friendship. But I do not want to deal with his curiosity or that of the Jedi Council right now." The count's features darkened. "Later, perhaps. That will be all for now. May the Force be with you, Aloura."

"And with you, Master," she breathed, and the transmission died. When Qui-Gon closed the door behind him she whirled around to face him, her eyes widening in surprise. "Have you been listening?" she asked sharply.

"And a good morning to you too, Aloura," Qui-Gon replied drily. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he regarded her silently for a while, and she drew her robe closer around herself, obvioulsy uncomfortable with the situation. "You sent me to Telos," he said at last.

She nodded, blushing. "I am sorry. I –"

"I heard," Qui-Gon interrupted her. "I almost feared that something bad had happened to him. Now I am glad to see he is enjoying his usual good health. What is this about, Aloura?" he finished gently.

"I do not know. He is making contacts, I believe, but for what, I cannot tell you."

"Would you, if you knew?"

"You know where my loyalties lie," she answered haughtily.

Qui-Gon sighed. "I guess I do, yes." He turned around to leave.

"Wait!" Aloura called out. "Where are you going?"

One last time he looked back over his shoulder to face her. "I have my orders, Aloura. I will follow them. I won't be seeing you again. Farewell." He could see the expression on her face all too well before he averted his gaze. Hurt, betrayal, and profound sadness. But then, didn't he feel just the same? He had no friends on Serenno. Not anymore.

"Shields gone!" the Devaronian shouted, face fixed into a primal snarl of fear. Just in that moment another direct hit spun the _Jolly Star_ around in a merry circle. "Propulsion is gone," he added gloomily, into the silence on the bridge. They were dead in space, with the Kaloth cruisers moving inf or the kill. 

"Do something!" Captain Mager cried, grabbing Alamys' collar and trying to shake him, which, considering their height difference, was a futile endeavor on the captain's part. 

"I am terribly sorry, but I have already exhausted my repertoire," the Jedi Master growled. He felt dizzy and sick, and his head was pounding like mad. When he moved, his muscles ached in protest. "They will board us," he explained. " And you'd better say your prayers now."

"We won't give up without a fight!" Mager replied defiantly. 

Alamys shook his head. "Of course not. Listen," he continued wearily, "I am in bad shape, as you can see, and I won't be able to protect you for long, once they board. If you have some kind of escape pods I suggest you use them. Perhaps they'll let you go. I have alerted Durga and I am certain he will send someone to help eventually, but they could be too late. So better be on the safer side."

"Fine," Mager breathed and let go of Alamys' clothes. He relaxed somewhat, shoulders slumping. "I didn't know you'd called for assistance. All right." Turning toward his crew he told them to board the ship's escape pods and abandon the cargo. None of them grumbled over that order, though it would cost them. Durga did not approve of his couriers' failures in delivering his goods to his customers. But then, he approved of pirates preying on his couriers even less. 

Alamys leaned back against the comm console, his legs shaking. He was wondering hard why the pirates had opened fire so suddenly, and why the pirate captain had confirmed his name. Had he received a message of sorts? The Jedi Master grimaced ever so slightly. Of course he had. A message that probably went along the lines of: Alamys Jorka, Jedi Master, wanted dead or alive, reward. And issued by none other than Darth Sidious, if he was any judge. So. The Sith Lord was using all means available to him to prevent Alamys from getting to Coruscant. Understandably. And if those pirates managed to get aboard the _Jolly Star_ before help arrived, he would have won already.

A premonition made him turn around to face the viewport, and just a moment later another battle-group appeared almost on top of the Kaloth cruisers. Mager hurried back to join Alamys, eyes wide. 

"What's that?" he asked, seemingly awed. "The help you mentioned?"

"I hope so," Alamys replied and took the prepped comlink he had used to get his message to Durga. As expected, a call had come in during the battle, and Alamys listened closely to teh recording, his heart sinking further as he realized who had come to the rescue. He watched the Kaloth cruisers back off, undoubtedly impressed by the newcomers' credentials and guns. Suddenly a voice snarled over the comlink:

"_Jolly Star_, this is the _Black Edge_. Prepare to be boarded. We're taking your cargo aboard."

Mager tore the comlink out of Alamys' grasp brutally. "Hey, wait! You cannot – " There was silence on the other end, and the Jedi Master put a reassuring hand on the captain's shoulder. 

"Relax. They are Durga's people and will most probably escort you and your cargo back to Nal Hutta. The worst that can happen to you is to be charged for the lost time."

A loud clang on the outer hull told them that the newcomers were establishing a cofferdam. The Kaloths had retreated further, and were preparing to leave. "They are letting them get away just like that?" Mager asked suspiciously.

"They won't be able to hide. And the merchandise has first priority," Alamys explained. "You

should inform your crew of what is happening," he added wearily. 

Mager nodded mutely and darted off the bridge to find his men and tell them of this new turn of events. Left all alone on the bridge, Alamys slid down along the comm console to sit on his haunches, waiting. Of all people who could have come to the rescue it had to have been Tekko Rahn. Mava's brother. Lowering his head tiredly, the Jedi Master tried to find calm in deep, even breaths, but he hurt all over, the stress of the attack taking its toll on his body. He was far from recovered, and with the virus handicapping his healing abilities, he would remain incapacitated for some time. But he wasn't beaten just yet. 

The sound of approaching footsteps reached him and he looked up to watch a group of five armed men stroll onto the bridge, Mager in their midst. The captain looked slightly frightened, but also relieved. The leader of the newcomers wore a headset with a camera lens hovering in front of his left eye. Undoubtedly it fed what he was seeing back to their ships, and right now he was studying the Jedi Master with cold curiosity. Alamys rose slowly, ignoring the pain in his legs and shoulders. He took a few steps toward the group before three blaster rifles swung in his direction and targeted his torso in an unmistakable warning. He could have disarmed them easily, but any aggressive move on his part would only endanger Mager and his crew. The pirate heading the group raised a hand to his left ear, then nodded in response to something he must have heard over the listening device he wore. Then his gaze turned on Alamys again. 

"You are coming with us, he said. Captain's order."

Spreading his arms slightly in surrender, which, given his splinted right arm, wans't all that easy, Alamys replied: "Tell Captain Rahn that I will come voluntarily. No need for violence."

The nameless pirate gave him a mirthless smile and looked him up and down quite pointedly, obviously meaning to tell him that he saw no threat in Alamys. Foolish, but not unexpected. Waving his team forward, the man watched two of his cronies bind Alamys wrists together in front of him and they were none too gentle doing it. Yet, after having survived torture at the hands of two Sith Lords, Alamys barely noticed that sloppy cruelty. One of the mne pushed him forward, past Mager, who looked slightly worried and a bit apologetic, but clearly did not want to challenge his would-be rescuers over the Jedi Master's safety. 

When they had passed the cofferdam between the ships Alamys tensed involuntarily. He did not know whether Tekko Rahn would still blame him for his prison sentence, and he was loath to meet the man for fear of having to tell him that he was responsible for his sister's death. As it turned out he was spared such an encounter for the moment. His escort ushered him into a holding cell and left him there, confident that he could not escape them. Which was all too true. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Alamys sat on the hard metal bench that was the cell's sole furniture and leaned his back against the wall, closing his eyes. They would take some hours to relocate the cargo, and then they'd probably go straight to Nal Hutta or Nar Shadaa, a long way to Coruscant. And for the first time ever since his ordeal had begun, Alamys Jorka began to ask himself whether he should really continue running from destiny.

Qui-Gon let his ship hoover above Serenno just a few clicks from the jump-point for Coruscant, feeling undecided. He had no clue where to go andlook for Dooku next, and the Jedi Master did not want to be found, making any blind search a futile endeavor. And yet the young Jedi felt that his old mentor owed him an explantion. He was being righteous and childish, he knew, and that rankled almost as much as Dooku's secrecy. Taking a deep breath, Qui-Gon stared at the comm sequence displayed on the fighter's central screen and finally punched it through. It took a few moments for the call to reach Coruscant, and a few more before it was answered. 

"Qui-Gon, what news you have?" Master Yoda asked, sounding alert and fresh, despite the time difference. 

"Greetings, Master Yoda. I have failed to find Count Dooku, but have found out that he is well and does not want to be disturbed in whatever quest he is undertaking. He is erasing all traces for me to follow. What shall I do? Try to go and find Master Jorka? I could start on Corellia ..." He trailed off, sensing that there was something hidden in the silence that came from the Jedi Master. "Master Yoda?"

"A request, reached us it has only a few hours ago. The reason for my being awake still it is."

"Oh." Qui-Gon frowned in puzzlement. "What request?"

"Request does Count Dooku to be freed of his duties toward the Jedi Order. Leave us he will."

Qui-Gon felt as if hit in the stomach. "Leaving? He is leaving? Why?" he asked, aghast, once he had overcome the initial shock.

"Reasons he gave enough. Talk about those we will once returned you have." There was a short pause. Then: "Home you should come, Qui-Gon Jinn. Need oyu here we do."

"But what about Master Jorka?" the younger man tried weakly. "What about your fears concerning those two running around unchecked?"

"Gathering the darkness is already," the old Jedi Master sighed. "Too late to interfere. Not lose we want to another. Come back you must, Qui-Gon."

A shiver ran down Qui-Gon's back. Too late already? He felt very cold all of a sudden, but gradually determination replaced uncertainty. All the more reason for him to return to Coruscant and make a difference. Master Yoda was right in that. "I am coming home," he breathed. "I won't let you down."

TBC 


	10. The Fall

His quarters were as spacious and airy as any here in the royal palace of Naboo, even though he was a minor functionary. Yet. But that would change, in time. Darth Sidious shrugged out of his coat and let it drop on one of the chairs by the table, before he walked over to the balcony and pulled the doors open. It felt good to be home, even though he did not hold close ties to Naboo any longer, not emotionally. He had learned some time ago that the only loyalty that was really worthwhile pursuing was loyalty to oneself. And that was a principle he embraced with dilligence and determination. His master's death on Zelos II presented a setback to his studies, and he had worked hard to overcome it. As it was, he had finally managed to fool the holocron into accepting him as Jedi. At last he could study the information presented by Master Jeldo, and find some pointers from there on, hopefully. Perhaps he could find other documents, apart from Hagen Dycos' works on the Sith, which he had read with greatest interest. 

All in all he was in a very good mood, and one of the major reasons, apart from his success concerning the holocron, was a call he had received just hours before reaching Naboo. One of Nexus' agents, now his, Sidious thought, had reported Alamys Jorka's presence on a ship named _Jolly Star_, bound for Coruscant. It seemed as if luck had run out on the Jedi Master after all. He had apparently been caught in a pirate raid, along with the vessel's crew. From there on he would be at Sidious' mercy. That was, at the mercy of his network of eyes and ears. Soon now the paranoia would also prompt him to go into hiding, where he could remain, for all Sidious cared, until it was time for the Sith Lord to finish that unfortunate business. And if the Jedi Master was killed in Hutt Space, all the better. 

Sidious returned to the table where he had dropped his cloak and put the holocron down on the tabletop. Well, well, well. Alamys Jorka had uncovered that interesting observation about the Force and it being infected by darkness, hadn't he? Frowning as he summoned his recollection, Sidious touched the holocron ever so slightly, activating it. Master Jeldo's image appeared instantly, and shuddered as the security mechanism fought Sidious' manipulations valiantly. He remembered Master Jeldo's mention of a Sith imprisoned on Coruscant, a tale he had read about elsewhere too. Hagen Dycos had also reported of a Sith being captured on a space station after the battle for Ruusan, and if Sidious was not mistaken, the name had been the same.

"Greetings," the image of the Ho'Din began at last. "I am Master Jeldo, Keeper of this Chronicle. What is your question?"

Sidious smiled: "Roj Kell. Tell me about him."

Another image replaced the Ho'Din's, a life-size image of a human male, with long black hair and pale green eyes that echoed the amused smile he wore on his lips. Sidous stood back, squinting up at the holo with interest. Meanwhile the Ho'Din's voice droned on, repeating the story Sidious had already heard in excerpts while questioning Alamys Jorka back on Zelos II. 

Smiling to himself, the young Sith realized that he had indeed come across the future source of knowledge he needed. If he was not mistaken a man who had survived a thousand years – from Master Jeldo's lifetime to that of Hagen Dycos – could also survive another millennium. If not, there might be another way to tap that knowledge, back on Korriban, perhaps. If Roj Kell was alive he would find out. Definitely. 

Jedi Knight Qui-Gon Jinn felt strangely uneasy upon returning to Coruscant. He felt that he had let a chance slip away, but for all the world he had no idea what that chance had been for. Should he have apprehended and confronted Dooku anyway, chasing all across the galaxy after a Jedi Master who had decided to leave the Order? Though reason told him that such a hunt would have been foolish and ultimately a futile effort, his heart told him otherwise. Why then had Yoda decided against it? What did he know that Qui-Gon did not? And what had he meant about the darkness growing already? Anxious and angry, Qui-Gon walked deeper into the Jedi Temple, for once totally oblivious to the soothing peace that permeated the structure. 

"Ah, Qui-Gon Jinn." Mace Windu's calm voice jolted Qui-Gon out of his broodings, as the Head of the Council joined him. "You are back," the older man said amiably. "Good, very good. Master Yoda is waiting for us already."

Frowning, Qui-Gon said nothing. He had not expected Master Windu to attend that meeting too. In silence they made their way to one of the meeting rooms, where Master Yoda perched on one of the cushioned, round chairs. Master Windu took another, and Qui-Gon remained standing, out of respect and uneasiness. He was eying Yoda in particular, but the alien master seemed strangely distracted. Then the small Jedi finally turned to face him. 

"Returned you have. Good, very good," he said, echoing Master Windu's words, and Qui-Gon wondered hard why they were so happy to have him back. 

"Yes, Master Yoda," the Jedi Knight replied with a small bow. "Although my trip was unsuccessful."

"Succeeded you could not have," Yoda told him sternly. "Decided Count Dooku has for himself and sway we will him not."

"Masters, what is it that has prompted him to resign from the Order?"

"A number of reason," Mace Windu explained with a sidelong glance at Yoda. "He claims that the Jedi have become mired in bureaucracy, that we are to complacent in defying a decaying republic. He scolds us for not being able to keep pace with the erosion of morals and ethics. In short, he thinks the Jedi incompetent."

Qui-Gon barked an short laugh of incredulity. "But – " He hesitated, seeing that both Windu and Yoda were very serious. "But how can he say that?"

The two older Jedi shared a knowing glance, then Yoda turned toward Qui-Gon again. "True it is that increasingly difficult it has become for us to do what do we must. Independence from central government many worlds crave. Yet stability they threaten with their desire. Turmoil invoke they will if do as they wish they are allowed to."

"But we cannot deny them independence. Can we?"

"No, Qui-Gon, we cannot," Master Windu answered with a sigh. "Not with good conscience, anyway. But we must consider the good of all peoples that reside within the Republic."  


The younger Jedi shook his head. "Wait. If I understand correctly Count Dooku sides with those separatists, if you want to call them that." He grimaced in disbelief. "That was why you wanted him back?"

"Know we did not what think he did," Yoda admonished him, "but clear it is that dissatisfied he is too. No connectiion I see yet, but prepared we must be."

"Count Dooku is an experienced Jedi Master," Qui-Gon offered. "He would not act selfishly in this."

Again the two Council members looked at one another, but this time Mace Windu lost the match and it was his turn to answer. "The Jedi Order, Qui-Gon Jinn, has a responsibility toward the Republic. Dooku does not wish to carry that responsibility any longer, and that makes him dangerous. Not only because of what he is, but because of what he knows."

"Now you make it sound as if he were an enemy," Qui-Gon exclaimed, aghast.

"He could be," Windu countered quietly. "Which is why we are recalling all Jedi from their assignments. Before we commit them to any other mission we want to make sure that they all understand what is at stake, which is nothing less than the Order itself. We must be united in our goals."

"And what goals are those?" Qui-Gon asked, totally sincere. 

"Peace and stability," Mace replied at once, his forehead creasing into a frown. "Above everything else."

"Above freedom? Above other people's choices?" Suddenly angry, Qui-Gon took a step back. "What about protecting _their_ interests?"

"Understand you do not," Yoda injected. "Choose their leaders people do for themselves. Responsible they are for that choice themselves. Once chosen, protect that choice the Jedi do."

"Which does not mean that we would support tyranny," Mace Windu added hurriedly, "or that we would willingly prevent a world from gaining independence from the Republic. The people must decide, and the government represents the people. Therefore we follow the Supreme Chancellor's directive. Until the people, which ultimately means the Senate, say differently."

Qui-Gon's features turned blank. "In that case," he declared, "Count Dooku is right in what he claims. You cannot follow the central government and at the same time announce that you will not prevent people from gaining their independence. Ultimately you will remain a slave to Coruscant." He shook his head, upset. "I would not want to serve such an order either."

The two Jedi Masters continued gazing at him passively, until Mace Windu rose from his seat. "I would hate to see you leave too," he announced. "Make your own choices, but think them through before you decide," he cautioned the younger man, then left. 

"Qui-Gon Jinn," Yoda called out, diverting the Jedi Knight's attention back on him. "Understand I do your dilemma. Think on this you must." He hopped off his perch and started across the floor slowly. "Reached us a call has from one Captain Mager. Report he does Master Jorka to be taken to Nar Shadaa on a ship named _Black Edge_. Ask you to recover him I do."

For a moment Qui-Gon hesitated, appalled. Of course, with Dooku leaving, the Council needed the support of the Order's more conservative members to sway the majority, and who was more conservative than Alamys Jorka? On the other hand Qui-Gon felt relieved that the Tyreenese Jedi Master had resurfaced. He might be conservative and strict on the Code, but he was also fair and perceptive. The Jedi Knight nodded at last: "I will go. And I will meditate on what I truly believe in."  


"Ask I cannot for more," Yoda told him calmly. "May the Force be with you on your journey, Qui-Gon."

Tekko Rahn was actually in quite a good mood when he finally came to visit Alamys. Wearing a good-natured grin on his face he entered the bleak room and the Jedi Master found himself responding hostilely. He rose from his seat, frowning, and undecided how to interpret that smile on Rahn's face.

"Who'd have thought we'd meet again like this?" the pirate boomed, amused.

"I'd rather have avoided that meeting," Alamys replied. 

Rahn bellowed a laugh and slapped the Jedi's shoulder amiably. "You know, Mava will be beside herself when she hears I've captured you by chance! She always was in awe of you, ever since you snagged me up and took me out of her hair." He winked at the Jedi Master. "No hard feelings, eh?"

"Where will you be taking me?" Alamys asked, unimpressed.

Tekko shrugged. "As I see it, you alerted us to the theft, so you deserve a reward. How about I let you loose on Nar Shadaa? That a deal?"

"You're not angry at me?"

"No way! Guess I had that coming at me, and I did my time, so no harm done."

Despite his gloomy mood Alamys smiled. "I can see that prison did not do much for your attitude. Still pirating? Or are you just Durga's trusted enforcer?"

"This and that, you know how it is," Tekko shot back, grinning again. "So, what about you? Someone beat you up on Zelos II, according to Mager. Whatever happened to you?"

Swallowing hard, the Jedi Master hesitated. "I – ran into some nasty types," he ventured.

"Paid a visit to Mava, did you," Tekko challenged with a wink.

"I – yes, actually I did." Alamys's shoulders sagged as he prepared mentally for what he was going to say next. "She's dead, Tekko. Mava is dead."

The pirates' features went rigid, and for a moment his clean-shaven face went totally white. "What did you say?" he croaked.

"Those guys that beat me up... One came after me. I needed help, and the only one I knew was Mava. She – told me to run," he finished, feeling helpless.

"So you ran," the pirate hissed at last, his eyes narrowing. "Coward."

Alamys felt that word strike at his heart, because he felt the same, and because he still mourned Mava's death. "I could not help her," he answered nevertheless.

"No? The great Jedi Master, powerless against some thugs?"

"I am sick, Tekko," Alamys confessed, shocked at his own sincerity. "I was totally exhausted and I was hurt. There was no way I could stop him."

Tekko blinked away tears and turned away suddenly, pounding a fist against the wall hard. "No!" he exclaimed in a choked sob. 

For a while he stood like that, shoulders shaking. Alamys could only watch, feeling his own raw pain again, feeling with the other man, doing nothing to shield himself against Tekko's emotions. He deserved to suffer, for what he had done to Mava. He deserved to die for that. 

Closing his eyes, Alamys exhaled slowly, resigned in his fate. "I am sorry," he whispered. "I will make no more excuses. Your sister died because of me, and I – "

"Shut up! Shut your filthy mouth!" Tekko roared, his face red with fury as he looked up to glance sideways at the Jedi Master. Shaking with rage, he pushed himself off the wall and turned to face Alamys fully. His voice was devoid of emotion when he declared: "I know you liked her. And I know she would have wanted you to live, although for the life of me I cannot imagine why. So I will honor her last wish. Never cross my path again, Alamys Jorka."

Then he left, and Alamys would indeed never see him again. On Nar Shadaa the Jedi Master was escorted off the ship by a silent group of armed guards. For some reason Alamys felt strangely defiant just then. Deserted by everyone, he thought, he had every right to be defiant. The Smugglers' Moon seemed decidedly hostile just then, and Alamys found himself pushing all guilt away from his soul, anger scouring his mind as he made his way from the landing berth the _Black Edge_ occupied. He had had no choice but to leave Mava! It was not his fault that she had died! Darth Sidious had killed her, for Force's sake. He gave a bitter laugh, realizing how thoroughly he was caught between his mounting anger, fear and pride. Teeth bared in a mirthless grin, the Jedi Master stalked deeper into the city, vowing to make the Sith pay for all this. Just then, flashing like a neon sign warning the unwary traveller of steep gorges, the Jedi Code popped into his head again. 

There is no emotion – There is peace. There is no ignorance – There is knowledge. There is no passion – There is serenity. There is no death – There is the Force.

It was all a lie. Had he not learned just that? The Force did not grant him peace, did not give him the knowledge that would have prevented Mava's death, and he was anything but serene. Hot wrath filling him to bursting, Alamys lashed out without thinking when an indistinct shape stepped into his path, bringing a blaster rifle up to bear at him. The assailant crashed into the next wall with a sickening thud. Dispassionately, Alamys considered the downed creature and looked casually around, searching for more attackers. There were three in the close vicinity. Bounty-hunters. Suddenly the predatory smile was back, as he realized that Sidious still held the reins of this little game. Here on Nar Shadaa, where crime thrived, bounty-hunters found easy prey, and now Alamys Jorka was one of their targets. Thanks to Sidious. Oh, well. Two could play that game, and they would soon find out whether the assorted vultures on Nar Shadaa really thought chasing him worthwhile.

Darth Sidious had his eyes closed, submerged in deep meditation. Nurturing a small flame of suppressed anger, he let his mind drift through the Force, searching. If he was going to find Roj Kell he could not rely on the newsgrids, or even his own network of agents. The man had been adept enough to only let himself be caught twice in two millennia and he would know how to hide himself. So the Sith Lord had decided to employ the Dark Side in his quest. The answer of just where the old man was, or whether he was still alive, presumably was to be found within the Force, and he now had to sift through it, using what information he had on the ancient Sith as pointers. He could sense the darkness thicken and swirl around him, probing his mind and feeding snippets of information back to him. 

When he felt the darkness compress into a tight knot of recognition Sidious tensed, and suddenly his world was inverted, allowing him to see through closed eyelids. In front of him, neatly placed on the table, stood a bowl filled with clear water. Not his own master anymore, Sidious lifted his left hand, that one holding a knife, which cut across his right wrist, drawing blood. He did not feel the cut, he was still in a trance, but he watched the drops of blood fall into the bowl, impacting on the tranquil surface of the water like miniature bombs. Gradually the blood mingled with the water and the bleeding stopped abruptly. Sidious felt his own mind converge on the sight, his senses focused. Then, very slowly, the trails of red assembled in neat letters, forming a name: Blithe Arkad.

The corners of his mouth curling into a satisfied smile, Sidious woke up and laughed out loud. A name! Marvellous! The single flame of dark power grew into a roaring furnace of triumph, but Sidious had learned enough to rein his joyous feelings in again quickly. No, no celebration just yet. He took up a piece of soft cloth from beside the bowl and dipped it into the water, before he proceeded to dab at the last remnants of drying blood on his skin. Now he only had to find out what that name meant to his own search.

It took him most of the night, using all of his assets concerning information to come up with the answer. Blithe Arkad was involved in trade negotiations with Cred Fessel and Crion on Telos. At first glance there was nothing suspicious about that businessman, but then he had stumbled across a recent holoimage of Blithe Arkad. Feeling immensely pleased. Sidious leaned back in his chair and gazed at it for a long time. The similarities were unmistakable. The eyes, most of all, had not changed at all. No doubt, Blithe Arkad was Roj Kell. Older, yes, but still very much alive. _Now_ he could celebrate. And then, afterwards, he would go and find out just where the man was hiding. Yes. That did sound very good indeed.

To someone who had never been to Nar Shadaa, but thought that after having lived in Coruscant's perpetual chaos nothing could be worse, the Smugglers' Moon always was kind of shocking. Within moments of setting foot on the world, Qui-Gon Jinn felt ill and confused. The atmosphere teemed with malice and violent intent, which frequently became more than intent. And he had been shot at twice. Five days after having left the capital, the Jedi Knight was at a loss of where to begin his search for Master Jorka. The _Black Edge_, as he had been able to ascertain, had left four days earlier, but the man who had given him that information could not recall having seen anyone leave the ship who had resembled the Jedi Master. The lead, then, ended here, at docking bay seven. 

Qui-Gon Jinn, already cautious because of the recent assaults, was alerted early to the five beings closing in on him even before they came into view. Somehow, he thought, being a Jedi on Nar Shadaa was pretty risky. He let his hand drop down to hang beside his lightsaber, to be able to activate it at a moment's notice, if necessary. The five thugs moved into his field of vision, not terribly worried about concealing their intent. The rest of the passersby hurriedly cleared the area, and Qui-Gon, not really keen on a confrontation, joined the throng of people nonchalantly. Suddenly a hand gently fell on his forearm, and he threw a startled glance around, to find a tall, cloaked and hooded figure keeping pace with him. 

Heart clenching in sudden revelation he asked: "Master Jorka?"

"Your ship?"

"Bay seventeen," Qui-Gon answered, relief flooding his mind at the sound of the Jedi Master's familiar baritone voice. "Am I ever glad to have found you at last. We – "  


"Explanations can wait, Qui-Gon. We gotta get off this world before they get lucky after all."

The Jedi Knight risked a glance back, only to find the five thugs still behind them, and closing in fast. "They are after you, then?"

"Yes. I put off the wrong guys, I fear," Jorka answered with an amused chuckle. "When I say run, you run, all right?"

"Sure," the younger man replied, unsure of what to think of all this. "I was wondering why people were taking pot-shots at me. I guess that explains it."  
  
"Crime thrives on Nar Shadaa. They would have shot you just the same." Again a laugh, but this time it was more of a growl. "They never learn, no matter how many fall in this chase."

A shiver ran down Qui-Gon's back at the sound of Jorka's voice, and suddenly he remembered Yoda's warning, that the Jedi Master's future was clouded, that he might be becoming dangerous. But when he opened his mouth to inquire further, Alamys pushed him aside and snapped. 

"Run!"

The Jedi Master sprinted forward, and Qui-Gon followed instinctively, and kept on running for a short while even after Alamys Jorka had stopped and turned to face their pursuit. Unclipping his lightsaber from his belt the Jedi Knight whirled around and ignited the blade. Unarmed, Alamys had pushed back the hood of his cloak, but Qui-Gon could not see his face, since the Jedi Master stood with his back to the younger man. Sweeping his left arm through the air in front of him, Alamys flung the quintett back into the thinning crowd, then looked over his shoulder at Qui-Gon.

"I told you to run, didn't I?" he asked, totally calm. 

Qui-Gon felt his jaw drop at seeing the Jedi Master's emanciated features, the angry red wound that was slashed down the left side of his face, but above everything else the steely, soulless ice in Alamys Jorka's eyes was what shocked him the most. He took a hesitant step forward, but Alamys was already moving in his direction fast. 

"Bay seventeen you say? Let's go."

The two Jedi ran again, side by side, with Qui-Gon still holding his lightsaber in both hands. Left and right people made room for them, screaming and shouting in fear. But Qui-Gon's face was rigid with disbelief. Something terrible had happened to Alamys Jorka, and it had pushed him across the line that separated light and dark. This truth burned hotly in Qui-Gon's mind, and yet he found himself following the Jedi Master nevertheless, never even considering that he might become a danger to him. When the two of them had reached a passageway that led to one of the short bridges that connected all quarters of the vertical city, the five bounty-hunters opened fire. Qui-Gon pivoted on his heel, falling automatically into the calm void of a warrior. He picked off three shots, deflecting them back at the assailants. Then, suddenly, a wave of darkness washed over him, flooding the hallway in front of him and hurling the remaining three thugs against the wall to his left. They lay there, dazed, and Qui-Gon felt much the same, when the Jedi Master called out:

"Qui-Gon Jinn! Don't just stand there!"

Shaking off his paralysis, the Jedi Knight turned back to the bridge, where Alamys stood waving at him to finally follow. At the edge of his hearing he could hear a faint hissing noise, like a rocket fuse igniting, and a slight whining noise became louder suddenly. He saw Alamys' eyes widen, his expression turn into surprise, as he whirled around to stare down into the depth at something out of Qui-Go's line of sight. Time seemed to slow as the Jedi Knight started running toward the master, who flung out his left arm, palm facing outward, as if trying to stop something. Too late. _Something_ impacted against the bridge's railing and exploded, the fiery backwash wrapping Alamys Jorka in a sheet of flames that threw him around and backwards with the force of a giant fist. The bridge's railing gave, and then there was nothing left to break the Jedi Master's fall. Only seconds had passed, but as reality crashed back into Qui-Gon's awareness, everything was already over. 

He stood, rigid with surprise and disbelief, and only belatedly realized that he had also moved into the line of fire of whoever had been trying to kill Alamys. Moving back quickly, into the relative safety of the passageway, Qui-Gon strained to see anything in the black abyss that opened underneath the damaged bride. But he could not sense a single thing, and then another projectile hit the frame of the passageway, and the Jedi Knight had to seek cover inside the corridor, when it exploded. Rail guns. They were using rail guns! Flat on his stomach, he felt his eyes bulge in incredulity. Alamys was gone. And whoever had killed him was trying to get at Qui-Gon too. 

Pushing himself off the floor, Qui-Gon jumped to his feet, but did not turn away at once. He still could not believe that Alamys was gone. His throat constricting with sorrow, he shook his head slightly, disbelieving. Failure did not come easily to the young Jedi Knight. And he had failed twice now in a short period of time. First, he had failed to apprehend Dooku and confront him, and he still thought that perhaps he might have convinced the older man to give the Order another chance. And now, now he had lost Master Jorka too. He dreaded having to report that second failure to Master Yoda. Then, with a sudden start he realized that the damaged bridge had been the shortest way to bay seventeen. Great.

If he retreated now he would take hours to get there, with the maze of connections, bridges and corridors that permeated Nar Shadaa. Giving his hunters all the more opportunity to kill him too. He set his jaw grimly, then walked down the corridor a few more meters, until the distance seemed about right. Ignoring the crowd that was slowly gathering around, gawking at the smoldering hole in the bridge's railing, Qui-Gon tensed ever so slightly, before he sprinted toward the bridge, using the Force to increase his speed. He crossed the bridge in a rush of cold air, and a shiver ran down his back at the thought of Alamys falling into that depth, helplessly. Once he had reached the other end of the bridge, Qui-Gon briefly closed his eyes to regain his composure. Then, calmer again, he proceeded to his ship. 

He hit the jagged ledge full force, the impact driving all air from his lungs and momentarily blinding his eyes. But he scrambled back into reality quickly, regaining his senses in a chaotic maelstream of fury. When Alamys propped himself up on his elbows he was staring straight down, over the egde and into the abyss of cool darkness up front, but it held no fear for him. He had survived the fall, he was alive, and whoever had tried to kill him today would regret that choice dearly. With a low growl the Jedi Master pushed himself upright and stood. Then, his mind caught in the cold, emotionless void of shock and anger, he looked up, just making out the slender bridge in the far distance above. 

It was sheer luck – or the Force – that had saved his life, he realized, and suddenly a grin appeared on his lips as he bared his teeth in black humor. Wasn't he the lucky one? Now Sidious would undoubtedly think himself safe, and Alamys could patiently and quietly work away at bringing him down. Alone. He frowned again. Without Qui-Gon's interference he would never have gotten into his pursuers' crossfire! That damn, cocky brat was far too foolish to be trusted. Or perhaps not so foolish at all ... It occurred to Alamys that the Jedi Knight might also have led him deliberately into that trap. To get rid of him. But why? The answer, unfortunately, was all too clear. Dooku. Dooku had ordered his one-time apprentice to finish Alamys, to be able to spread his lies unpertubed. 

The Jedi Master's frown deepened. Wasn't it just strangely coincidental that the two most ardent defenders of the two extreme positions concerning the Jedi Order's philosophy had vanished at the same time? What if the Council itself had an interest in seeing them go, to strengthen conformity? Brows rising in disbelief, Alamys tried to reject that horrifying idea again, but it just would not go away. He remembered the riddle Yoda had asked the two of them to solve, and his own response to it, as well as Dooku's. Yoda, he recalled had not seemed very pleased at their answers. Paralysed by the shocking revelation, Alamys stood for a long time on that ledge, buffeted by the city ventilations cold gusts of air that travelled the shafts relentlessly. He did not even notice the cold. 

Lost in thought, he also let his thoughts touch the painful memories of his captivity back on Zelos II, and the interrogations Sidious had conducted on him. He had told him about the prophecy, hadn't he? Helplessly, Alamys cocked his head to the side, thinking that maybe he really could not prevent a prophecy from coming to be. No matter how much he would wish for something else. Perhaps he should admit defeat at last, and grant the Sith this victory. Shoulders slumping, the Jedi Master heaved a sigh. Perhaps the Council deserved what they had coming at them.

"Very well," he said aloud, only to hear his own voice. "So be it." Determination refocused his thoughts on the future immediately. "But your triumph will not last, Sidious."

His hands clenched into tight fists, and for a moment he lost himself in the darkness that surrounded him. Sidious would pay eventually. He would pay, as well as the Jedi. For arrogance, for complacency. For turning a blind eye on the truth. The truth was clear to him down there. The darkness was growing with every passing moment, and soon it would swallow everything. But a bright light would remain, somewhere. He only had to find it.

TBC


	11. About teaching

Darth Sidious gave an annoyed grunt when a call stopped him in the midst of leaving. Turning back toward the comm console he frowned at the call code, before he accepted it. It was from an agent on Nar Shadaa, and the woman looked nervous. Licking her lips, her eyes searching his hooded face, she nodded quickly.

"Master, I have news from Nar Shadaa."

Sidious allowed himself a mirthless smile. "You would not dare call if it were not news and important, would you?" he asked sweetly.

Paling, the woman shook her head no hurriedly. "Of course not!"  


"The news?"

"The Jedi is dead," she announced gravely. 

The Sith Lord's smile widened. "Is he now. How?"

"A bounty hunter, whom I have recompensated with the reward you had issued, apparently brought him down with a rail gun. A somewhat unconventional method, but seemingly effective."  


"You have proof of his death?"  


"Master?"

"Proof. A body, something," Sidious snarled. "No? And you gave him the reward anyway? The full sum?" 

"Master, his death will be confirmed by the Order," she offered timidly. "Another Jedi Knight witnessed his death. He left Nar Shadaa within the hour. That can only mean that the Jedi you wanted dead really _is_ dead, no?" 

He gave a disgusted shake of his head. "Probably yes. But probability is not the same as certainty. Well, no matter. A future investment in that bounty-hunter's continued good services, I would say."

"He is young," she added as an after-thought.

"No excuses," Sidious hissed. "Tell him that we invest in his future. But next time I want proof. Understood?"

"Yes, Master. Of course."

"Excellent. Good news, indeed. Good, good. That is all?"

"Yes, Master."

"Then you are dismissed."

He disconnected the call contemptuously, and turned away from the comm. So. Alamys Jorka was dead. Excellent. Grinning to himself, Sidious rubbed his hands in delight. And no matter what he had told the agent, she was quite right. The other Jedi would only have left if he had sensed Jorka's death. Which meant that the Jedi Master was truly gone. Out of the way. Of course, that also meant that the Motha Virus was well and truly lost. Sidious shrugged. He had not been entirely convinced of that little toy anyway. Roj Kell's way seemed much more promising, as even Master Jeldo had had to admit. Now, with Alamys' death confirmed, more or less, he could leave for Duro, where he knew Blithe Arkad to be. The old man was in for a surprise... Laughing out loud, Darth Sidious felt that life was very good indeed.

The voyage back to Coruscant was a lonely one, and Qui-Gon could not shed the memory of the feeling he'd had when he had finally found the missing Jedi Master. Relief. But now Alamys was gone. Even though Jorka had not been among the people the Jedi Knight would have called friends, he had been the sole remaining connection to his old mentor, Count Dooku. Just like the count, Alamys had been a student of Master Yoda, and that in itself made the controversy that had dominated Dooku's and Jorka's views all the more curious. Now both were gone, Dooku out of his own will, and Jorka quite involuntarily. Fact was, though, that the two Jedi Masters that had stood for quite differing views on the Order had vanished at a time when the Council demanded utmost loyalty to their own view of the Code. Coincidence? If so, who could have had an interest in seeing the Jedi draw in on themselves? Not Dooku. The count, Qui-Gon felt, was sincere in his accusations and misgivings about the Jedi. There was no malice in his decision that Qui-Gon could see. 

But Qui-Gon also remembered how disturbed and disillusioned Alamys had seemed back on Nar Shadaa, and he thought that maybe whatever the Jedi Master had uncovered had shaken his faith in the Jedi too. What else could have prompted him to turn to darkness? That thought forced Qui-Gon to examine his own feelings on the matter more closely. He agreed with Dooku in that the Jedi were too narrow-minded, and yet the young Jedi Knight's loyalty was to what he believed the Order to be. He would not leave, and yet, he could not condone conformity either. Still, with both Dooku and Jorka gone the two most extreme positions of the Order had lost their voice on Coruscant. Not something Qui-Gon associated with a consensus. 

He refused to accept that the Jedi Order had somehow come to a stand-still, where nothing new could be uncovered. It seemed impossible. Was the Force itself not inexhaustible? Did life itself not give birth to new things every nanosecond? It could not be that the rules the Jedi Order promoted were fixed. What if circumstances changed, what if the Code did not cover all situations? He was still submerged in that philosophical debate when he reached the capital. But it was then, approaching the gleaming citadel of the Jedi Temple, that the solution came to him. _Someone_ had to keep the controversy alive. As last student to Count Dooku, it fell to Qui-Gon to honor Master Jorka's death and his own mentor's legacy. He was smiling as he settled his ship onto his assigned landing platform. Well. Life was simple once you had made up your mind, wasn't it?

Feeling strangely elated, his heart light despite the sad news he carried, the Jedi Knight made his way into the temple, and was told that he was expected by the Council. He had sent a report ahead to inform the Order of Master Alamys Jorka's death, and he expected that the Council would want to hear a live report too. So he was not worried or anything, as he approached the Council Chamber. But the smiles he could see on Yoda's and Mace Windu's faces were somehow disconcerting. Hesitantly, Qui-Gon entered the chamber and took up his place in the midst of the room, facing Yoda and Master Windu. They seemed to be in a good mood, which, considering the loss of two Jedi Masters, seemed out of place. On second glance, Qui-Gon realized that those smiles were just up front, really, forced ones, to soothe him, perhaps. He bowed respectfully, then straightened once more. 

"Masters," he said, and waited.

"Qui-Gon Jinn, your return lifts our hearts," Mace Windu began, and he sounded genuinely relived. "The loss of Master Jorka comes at a very inoportune time, and yet we are certain that you did all you could to save him." 

Considering what Qui-Gon had implied in his report, that had two meanings, and it stung just a little bit. Alamys had turned to the Dark Side and had died without returning to the light. Which was what truly must be bugging Master Windu. Or so the young Jedi Knight thought. 

"I tried," he managed, but did not quite look at the two distinguished Jedi. He would have expected Yoda to deliver his famous line of 'There is no try', but the tiny Jedi Master merely nodded. 

"Know that we do, Qui-Gon Jinn. But balanced disaster is by joy. Today arrived has a young boy from Telos. Your efforts, it seem to be, that brought have his father to his senses."

"Xanatos! Crion has finally allowed him to be trained?"

"Yes," Master Windu added with a smile. "We have tested him already. Considering his potential we will make an exception in age. He is perhaps a little too old, but since he already knows his future teacher that should be no problem."

Qui-Gon felt a bit faint just then. "His future teacher?" 

He remembered all too well his brief discussion with Blithe Arkad, who had suggested that Crion distrusted the Jedi's skills in dealing with children. That Crion feared they would make his son a brain-washed slave. And it also occurred to him that the Council had changed the subject from Alamys Jorka's death to Xanatos all too quickly. Were they trying to placate him?

"Teach him you will, Qui-Gon Jinn," Master Yoda told him gravely. 

Bowing his head, Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes, Masters. I will." 

What else could he say? But he could not help the feelings of doubt that were still eating at his heart.

He entered the small dwelling cautiously, acutely aware of just what beast lurked at the end of the shadowy hallway. Yet he could barely suppress his elation at having succeeded. Here, on Duro, he had finally found the one he needed, the one who would teach him. Taking another step, careful not to make any sound, Sidious closed in on the open doorway that showed him an almost homely scene. Seated in a high-backed chair his quarry was bent over a book, apparently transfixed by the writing. A single candle illuminated the room just barely. _How old-fashioned_, Sidious remarked to himself, and a contemptuous smile began to quirk the corners of his mouth upward. Just then the old man looked up, his eyes narrowing briefly, before they were directed straight at the unannounced visitor. He put the book down on the table beside the chair, but did not move to rise. He was obviously waiting for Sidious to come to him.

Now that his presence had been acknowledged, Darth Sidious found no reason to hide any longer. Stepping into the single room of the house he stood very straight, confronting a legend from ancient times. His apprehension was so strong that he had to fight himself so he would not tremble with excitement. He dearly hoped that his nervousness did not show too much. The old man cocked his head to one side, long white hair falling down over his shoulders, and his pale green eyes suddenly turned very cold. 

"Who are you?" he asked, and even though Sidious had known about that voice's magic, he still jerked in response to that enchanting organ. Darkness laced with silver lightning, hard as steel, soft as velvet.

"I am Darth Sidious," the younger Sith managed, his own voice reasonably stable.

"Darth Sidious? Well," the old man said with a wry smile. "I suppose you did not come here in search for an apprentice." 

Sidious kept his features very calm, even though the jibe stung. "No. I want to learn. I want you to teach me." 

"Well, Sidious, your title implies that you have a teacher already, or else that you have finished your apprenticeship." 

The younger Sith's lips twitched as he realised that the old man had denied him that title deliberately, but he kept silent on that. Instead he answered, almost truthfully. "My master died quite—accidentally." 

"You mean you did not kill him yourself?" 

"No." 

"The Jedi did?" Now the other man's voice sounded almost amused.

"No. As I said, it was an accident." Well, perhaps Alamys Jorka was due _some_ credit, but not much. Darth Nexus had his own stupidity to thank for his death.

As if picking up on his thoughts the ancient Sith Lord frowned. "I cannot teach you," he declared at last.

"Yes, you can," Sidious countered boldly.

"What makes you think so?" 

"You trained Darth Bane, did you not? He was quite fond of you, I believe. And you were famous at your time too. A battle-leader, the sole survivor of the Sith Wars." 

"You know a lot about me. More than anyone alive save myself." 

"I am curious." 

"And resourceful." The old man rose from his seat in one fluid move, and moved closer toward Sidious, who almost took a step back. The old man was tall, and the shadows he drew from the corners made his appearance all the more intimidating. Yet Sidious remained rooted in place unflinching, even as he gazed straight into those pale cold eyes. "That you could track me down at all is impressive," the older Sith said. "I admit that I am intrigued. Tell me, Sidious, what do you hope to learn from me?" 

Darth Sidious inhaled slowly. "Everything," he breathed, sincere.

Roj Kell laughed. "Good. Very good. And learn you will." 

****

At first Darth Sidious had been pretty disappointed. After the dissatisfying experience of serving Darth Nexus he had expected something grander from his new apprenticeship, something closer to what he envisioned the true Sith Order to be. Yet where Darth Nexus had been a boisterous drunk, violent and unable to control his emotions most of the time, Roj Kell was the complete opposite. He did not drink anything apart from clear water or sweet Jeha tea, he was always cool, always calm, and he had no truck with ceremonies of any kind, as far as Sidious could tell. The contrast could not have been sharper. 

Sidious realized only a few weeks after having made himself Kell's apprentice that this first impression had been misleading. His new master had just as many vices as Darth Nexus, if on another level. He was obsessed with knowledge, obsessed with playing games, and contemptuous of anything that came even close to a display of the awesome power the Sith commanded. Bottom line: Where Darth Nexus had been too lax and too careless for Sidious' tastes, Roj Kell was too tight on procedure, and far too cautious. That impression proved deceptive very soon, too, though. It took the young Sith another month to come to terms with the fact that he would never be able to fully understand what exactly his new master was. 

So he sat cross-legged on the floor of the small apartment Roj Kell had moved into half a year earlier here on Sullust, watching his master read. Respecting Sidious' other, worldly duties, Kell allowed him to come and go as he pleased most of the time. The lessons were that much harder, though. Five years had passed since that fateful day on Duro. Five years of hard work and training, relearning almost everything Darth Nexus had taught him. Don't question, watch, don't take risks, always be sure of yourself, sure of your scheme, never dismiss an enemy and never dismiss the fact that no plan is really fool-proof. One should think that, with all these rules and regulations, the Sith would become totally ineffective and inefficient, but once fully incorporated these basic rules actually gave more freedom of movement, because they eliminated uncertainties and opened more possibilities. Reason was the key to success, knowledge the key to reason. 

That approach had to have served Roj Kell very well over the millennia. He was not even very strong in the Force, on the contrary. Therefore Sidious had grown more and more confident, even more sure of his own power, and of late he found himself regarding Kell with the same contempt he had seen Darth Nexus with in the end. True, he was learning more, much more, but at the same time he was growing strangely angry at the fact that someone as weak as Roj Kell obviously was, had managed to survive for so long, had managed to become so knowledgeable and that powerful. It seemed a waste, scandalous even. Kell did not deserve this power at all. And besides, the younger Sith Lord, not so young anymore, had been able to celebrate a few victories during his political career. He was steadily progressing through the ranks and had now been called into the inner circle of the Royal Advisory Council of Naboo. Those victories, which he had achieved all by himself, had made him impatient with his Sith training too. So Sidious had decided that soon now he would truly shed his bonds to his master, and get rid of him. 

"Oh, this is interesting," Roj Kell said suddenly, his enchanting voice cutting easily through Sidious daydreams of glory. The old Sith was still bent over the book he had been reading, looking at the displayed page intently. "I quote: True power is seldomly blatantly obvious. If you encounter strength, can you be certain that strength is not only a shield to hide weakness?" Kell turned his head to gaze at Sidious. "Tell me, apprentice, what are your thoughts on that matter?"

"Either you are strong or weak," the younger Sith said with a shrug. "Strength needs to be hidden sometimes, but never in a confrontation, I think."

"Really?" Roj Kell smiled thinly. "Then you believe that weakness is a sign for the absence of conflict? You believe that, if someone seems passive, that someone is also weak?"

Feeling a bit uneasy all of a sudden, Sidious shifted his position ever so slightly, trying to understand what his master was telling him. "What you mean, master, is that one should not trust first impressions, I believe. A variant of the lesson on distrusting certainty?"

"A variant of another lesson?" Kell asked back, frowning angrily. "There is no such thing as a variation of something else, Sidious."

The Sith apprentice felt decidely defiant just then. "Master, with all due respect, that is simply not true. What about clones? Manufactured goods? Even something as natural as identical twins, or even a single species, are a variation of the same theme." 

"My, my, aren't you a clever one. Is such a minor detail as important as the greater context it finds itself in? Try to approach things from a greater perspective, Sidious, only then you can understand the details fully."

Sidious sat on the floor mutely, digesting this. It was, from a certain point of view, even true, and it told him much more about his teacher than he would have anticipated. The greater _context_, was it? Obviously Roj Kell did not bother with what he called minor details further than what mere necessity dictated. Feeling the other man's gaze still lingering on him, he raised his head to meet Kell's eyes.

"So, what you mean is that each situation is unique?" he tried. "That nothing can be regarded as a single entity, because it is enmeshed in a greater context?"

"That is exactly what I mean, apprentice." Leaning back in his seat, apparently satisfied, Roj Kell closed the book and put it back on the table beside him. "You believe me weak because you have never seen me employ any of the grand power you expect of a Sith Master. But I am neither a master nor a Sith, as you should know. My teaching you therefore serves to expand your horizon, not your power in the dark side. I won't teach you about that, it is just child's play," he added dismissively. "What I am teaching you is true power, true control. And that, apprentice, makes me more powerful than you are."

Again Sidious sat speechless, taking his time to view this statement from every possible angle. It was true, he was still uncertain about his progress, he had not tested his newly found knowledge yet, and he still felt that he needed to follow his mentor further, before he could truly become master. Somewhere, deep down, he realized that he was being manipulated into thinking exactly that, into feeling dependent on Kell. But on another level he found that he was too afraid to test his own strength against that of his teacher. And still he craved some proof of Kell's mastery, despite that nagging little contemptuous voice that asked what greater proof there could be than the man's history. 

Two weeks later Roj Kell surprised his student once more. They were standing together in a mist-filled valley on Railltir, hunting. Both were dressed in the traditional dark robes, but those offered not much shelter against the humid air and cool winds that permeated the valley's bottom. Sidious was watching the trees and undergrowth surrounding them suspiciously. He was more at home in cities, there was no denying that fact. A lesson on pain, Kell had promised, and right now his apprentice was wondering very hard what he had meant by that. Suddenly there was a rustle of leaves to the left, and a distinct snort. A moment later the roaring voice of a Railltir tiger filled the vicinity with an unmistakable challenge. Confront a mindless beast? Sidious smiled contemptuously. What value could such a lesson offer?

"In the game of life there exist only predator and prey," Roj Kell explained, keeping his enchanting voice low, a mere whisper, that was chilling in its intensity. "One or the other can have many guises."

"We are not prey to some beast," Sidious hissed back. "That cat stands no chance against either of us."

Pale green eyes gave him an all too mocking look. "Remember, this is only a lesson, Sidious. You may believe whatever you want." 

He added something indistinct under his breath, and a moment later the tiger stepped into the clearing, its powerful tail lashing the bushes surrounding it left and right. Its red eyes were searching the two men intently, as if determining which one it should attack first. Not surprisingly, it started toward Sidious, stalking through the low grass slowly, its giant, muscular body seemingly growing smaller as the beast tensed more and more, a two-hundred pound mass of coiled power, ready to leap. Sidious merely smiled, as he reached out for the dark power that was always close, focusing his contempt and indignation into that darkness. There was no reaction, though, no connection. No response of power.

Frantically, the Sith apprentice made a grab for his lightsaber, but that sudden movement prompted the tiger to attack instantly. Claws drawing deep furrows into the ground it came at Sidious, jaws opened wide to crush his bones and render his flesh. Paling considerably, Sidious took a few stumbling steps back and brought his weapon to bear. It ignited in a blood-red beam, and the sudden light distracted the tiger for a moment. It broke off the attack and jumped to the side, where it crouched low, obviously assessing the situation. 

"Railltir tigers are cunning. She will stalk you until she deems it safe enough to attack. You are prey now, Sidious, but you could also be the hunter, if you are clever and brave enough," Roj Kell said calmly from his side of the clearing. "Remember to never underestimate your victim, though." 

Out of the corner of his eye Sidious noticed the older man detatching the handle of his own lightsaber from his belt and the humming sound of the activated yellow blade followed a low click. The apprentice relaxed a fraction. All right. Apparently Kell didn't want his student to end up a Railltir tiger's dinner, even though he had somehow blocked Sidious' access to the Force. He would interfere, if necessary. Thus reassured, the younger Sith started stalking the tigress instead, moving around her in a tightening circle. She followed him gracefully, red eyes narrowing as she hissed at him. When Sidious feinted an attack at her, his lightsaber blade leading, she hopped back, yet her right paw clawed the air in instinctive response and warning. She was undecided about this turn of events, it would seem. 

Then she jumped, her body propelled into the air by powerful hindlegs, huge pranks reaching for Sidious, fangs gleaming.

Surprised for a moment the Sith apprentice brought up his blade, deciding in a split-second that he could rip her belly open or decaptivate her when she reached him. But then he realized that her claws could still hurt him that way. Moving instantly, he stepped aside and lowered his lightsaber from a high guard position to a more leisured frontal guard. The tigress dropped elegantly on the ground, preparing for another attack. Sidious wanted to meet her before she could gather herself, but he was held back in place by a glowing yellow blade that appeared quite unexpectedly in his line of sight and gently moved toward his throat. Sidious strained to catch Kell's eyes, but at the same time did not want to lose track of the tigress. Then his master explained:

"_She_ is not the predator today, apprentice."

TBC 


	12. Musings on the future

****

Sidious felt cold sweat accumulate on his forehead at the sheer menace the ancient Sith's magical voice conveyed. He could see his mentor standing at his shoulder, slightly behind him, a mere shadow, almost out of sight, and suddenly he felt very uneasy indeed, remembering their argument a few weeks back. Kell had claimed to be more powerful than Sidious, and he had proven why that was so right now. Swallowing slowly, carefully, the apprentice shut down his blade in deference.

"Neither are _you_ to be prey."

The yellow blade snapped back and around as Roj Kell charged at the tiger, who ducked low for a moment, confused, but then met her new adversary with a ferocious snarl. She reared up, her pranks spread wide as if preparing for a hug. To Sidious' surprise and shock Kell did not use the beast's ridiculously open position to skewer her. Instead he whirled around and backed into the tigress, before he drove his right elbow into her guts. Using his own momentum and strength Kell took two more steps back, pushing hard, and the tigress dropped to the ground again, roaring angrily. When Kell pivoted on his heels to face the predator, Sidious could see a spray of blood wrap the older man in a curtain of red beads. He had clearly been hurt in the attack. Confronting the tigress, Kell held his lightsaber's handle in both hands, the tip of the blade pointed straight at the female tiger's broad black nose. She hissed again, red eyes gleaming, licked her lips eagerly as she took in the smell of her intended victim's blood. 

This was his chance to kill his master, Sidious realized suddenly. If he attacked now, Kell would either die on his blade or would be torn apart by the enraged tiger. He hesitated only for a moment before his indignation and desire for revenge for this cruel game took over. He charged, red blade sweeping up high, preparing for a powerful slash. In the last possible instant Roj Kell stepped aside, just at the moment the tigress jumped. She tried to twist her body into Kell's direction, while Sidious, finding her large mass flying at him, almost panicked. Yet he managed to finish his attack, and his blade cut deeply through the tigress' white coat. Nevertheless she sank her hindlegs' claws deeply into the younger Sith's arms and chest, before she fell heavily into the soft grass, dead. Sidious joined her presently, exhausted and feeling dizzy from the pain that wracked his own body. Shaking, he managed to deactivate the blade of his lightsaber just before he passed out. 

Standing above his unconscious apprentice, Roj Kell smiled. Blood was flowing down his chest from a set of furrows the tigress had cut into his flesh, but he did not pay the injuries any heed. Instead he concentrated on Sidious' still form, as he gently reopened the younger man's conncetion to the Force. That one was ambitious, yet his ambition was eating away at his mind, making him commit errors that might cost him his life one of these days. His ambition and his achievements also spawned arrogance, a second road to a quick ending. 

One or the other would be the young Sith's downfall one day. 

And still, Sidious was an exceptional personality, brilliant in his own way, more politician than warrior, more manipulator than anything else. He was, Roj Kell thought, so totally different from his previous students. Here was a man who could understand the value of stealth and deception fully. Despite his years and experience the ancient Sith Lord felt confident that he had finally found his successor, the one who would bring the Sith Order back for good. A few more years of training and Sidious would be prepared for exactly that. 

The young man's former teacher had obviously been very egoistical, holding back his teachings to keep Sidious in line, for fear of losing the last battles to his apprentice. Even though Kell could understand that desire very well, it still seemed an affront to everything the Sith had ever been since Darth Bane had founded the new order. Well, Perhaps it was time for another modification. 

Self-consciously Roj Kell ran a hand over his chest and held his palm up in front of his eyes, looking with mild interest at the dark blood that covered it. He would heal soon enough, but Sidious had been hurt worse. Picking his apprentice up from the ground, Kell walked back through the forest toward where they had landed their ship. A few hours later they had reached Korriban. 

A day after their arrival Sidious woke up again. Roj Kell was seated cross-legged on a small stone ledge, standing watch over his injured student. When Sidious stirred, the older Sith nodded to himself solemnly. Bedded on a stack of blankets and wrapped in two more, the young man seemed fragile, his bold face out of place somehow. Then his blue eyes snapped open quite suddenly, meeting Kell's instantly. Reaching out to pick up a cup of potion he had prepared earlier, Roj Kell handed the container to Sidious, who struggled weakly to sit up. 

"Drink this. It will help heal your wounds more quickly," the ancient Sith said quietly and waited until the younger man had taken the cup. 

Sidious' eyes held a fire of suspicion and hatred; undoubtedly he was remembering the incident on Railltir, and what it meant. He took a big swallow of the tincture and grimaced at the bitter taste. Then, mouth still twisted in obvious displeasure, he sat the cup down carefully on the rough stone floor next to him. Only then, apparently calmer, did he speak. 

"A lesson on pain, you said. Somehow I don't believe that was the true objective."  


"What do you believe the objective to have been, then?" Roj Kell asked softly, brows arched questioningly. 

"Humility, perhaps, or trust. But pain?" Sidious cautiously lifted his right arm, turning it this way and that, as if testing its mobility. "I admit that it does hurt, but what is the point?"

The ancient Sith continued staring into the younger man's eyes, forcing him to hold his intense gaze. "Some cultures believe that pain is the essence of life, that suffering is what defines it. They crave pain and pride themselves of being able to bear it for hours, without flinching. What is the point? To them the point is to remember the price of being alive, of course, of honoring their creators, sometimes. But the true purpose of the exercise is achieving control over one's own emotions. You may remember the Jedi Code declaring there to be no emotion, only peace. Peace is a state of being, just as any emotion. Another reminder of how self-indulgent the Jedi are," he added contemptuously. "Yet you will find no peace in pain, will you?"

"Only if I move beyond the pain," Sidious replied, frowning in concentration.   


"Excellent. Can you do that?" 

He continued watching his apprentice's futile struggle to break through the wall of agony that surrounded him, knowing full well that Sidious could not manage at all. All he accomplished was to rouse his own anger, frustrated at his lack of success. It helped to push the pain aside, of course, and Kell could sense sudden triumph flood the younger man's mind. With pride shining in his blue eyes Sidious smiled. 

"I think I understand," he grated out. "This is the essence of the power we command. With that power nothing can defeat us."

Roj Kell cocked his head to the left. "You have understood nothing, Sidious. What I want you to achieve is calm, not a heightened emotional state that will lead to your making mistakes. That was what got you into this predicament in the first place, remember?" He gave Sidious an encouraging nod, but was only met with a blank look from the other Sith. 

"I – I am not sure I see your point," the apprentice confessed.

"Oh, I am sure you can't. The point, Sidious, is that pain is just as unimportant as any other emotion. The ability to retain your calm in all possible situations is the key to survival. Perhaps you should recall just how you came by these wounds. Let me help you. First you believed that your target was to be the tiger, and you let her distract you. When you realized the true threat on that clearing you became even more distratced. The only sensible choice – or at least what seemed sensible to you at that moment – was to use my engagement of the beast to try and kill me. What you did not see, though, was the fact that I was still using the tiger to goad you. Why could I do this? Because I simply took my chances, the way you tried to do by attacking me. Took them, and used them."

Sidious' frown deepened. "What does that mean, exactly?"  


"It means, apprentice," the old Sith retorted, leaning toward the other man, "that life is a game played by multiple players. Only by playing too, can you achieve your goals effectively. There is no repose. But that is only half of the truth. Remember that I deceived you with words. Words give warning, yet words also precede action, even supplant it. You believed what I said, trusted my words. I used that trust against you. "

"So it depends on your goal whether to use words or action or both. Depends on whatever strategy works better in a given situation, defense or attack," his apprentice concluded.

"Very good. So you _do_ understand." Roj Kell gave his student a mirthless smile. "Some people believe that what the student learns from a lesson is more imporant than what the teacher thought to bring across. Well, I say that a teacher who cannnot bring his point across is not a very good teacher at all. Some believe that there are no teachers, that everyone is a student. That is true, to a certain extent. Yet it is a teacher's task to bring his student on a certain path, to form his views, to help him prevail in the future and present, to make him understand his world. And a student is soemone who has realized his own ignorance and seeks to change it into knowledge. For that he seeks someone he believes can teach him. Exactly that desire led you to me, Sidious. If that were any different there would be no need to teach. There would be no teachers and no students. There would only be an infinite struggle, because the lessons life teaches are not necessarily the lessons one needs to survive. All you could do then would be to learn from day to day, situation to situation. A waste of time and resources. A teacher can show you the complex picture of life."

"Only if he is good enough," Sidious murmured, chastised. 

"Agreed. And now you should sleep."

He was the worst of teachers, surely. He had failed his student, had failed his trust, and what was more, he had driven Xanatos to the Dark Side. It was unforgiveable. Head lowered in shame and grief, Qui-Gon Jinn sat one one of the large cushions that were placed around the low table that dominated the living-room of his quarters. He had requested time for himself, trying to beat the turmoil in his heart on his own. Master Yoda had seemed understanding, and the knowledge that the ancient master had lost more than one student in his long career as teacher and had still retained his calm wisdom was somewhat soothing to Qui-Gon. Right now, though, he was far from having that same coolness. His failure burned hotly in his mind, and he remembered events long years back when he had failed too. For a moment he wondered what Count Dooku was doing right now. They had not heard of him ever since he had vanished on Telos, but none of the Council members discounted the fact that he was out there somewhere. And Qui-Gon had not forgotten it either. 

Just like he had not forgotten Master Yoda's prediction of the darkness growing stronger. It _was_ growing stronger. And somehow the Jedi Order was losing more battles than it won. Just as he himself had lost on Telos. Sighing, Qui-Gon rose from his seat to walk over to the window overlooking the city. Centuries ago a park had encircled the Jedi Temple, but Coruscant had grown, demanding more space. Now it was almost impossible to see the Menarai Mountains for all the skyscrapers and vehicles that dominated the aereal region of the city-planet. The Jedi Master heaved another sigh. There was a knock at the door. Wearily, he turned around calling:

"Come!"

It was Master Yoda. The ancient Jedi was leaning heavily on his walking cane as he plodded over to join Qui-Gon. "Feel well you do?" Yoda asked almost cheerfully.

"Not really," the younger man confessed sincerely. "I – I have doubts. About my future."

"Good doubts are. For many things. Help they do to keep real your point of view."

Qui-Gon smiled. "I guess so, yes." He extended his hand toward the row of cushions. "Would you like to take a seat?"

Nodding thoughtfully, Yoda took that invitation and ambled over to seat himself. Qui-Gon joined him presently. For some time the two of them kept silent, each caught up in his own thoughts. Then the ancient Jedi Master said: "Remember I do a prophecy from times long past. Discussed the Council has its implications for along time."

"What prophecy is that?" Qui-Gon asked, curious. 

"Reminiscent it is of current events," the other Jedi explained. "Of a saviour it speaks, who will come in times of darknes."

"A Jedi?"

"Know we do not," Yoda replied quietly. "Logical it seems." He looked up sharply at Qui-Gon. "Remember you do what tell you I did about darkness?"

"Of course. You said the darkness was growing anyway, and that we needed to stick together. It does not seem to be working, though."

For a moment a dangerous glint appeared in Yoda's moss-green eyes, but then he relaxed again and nodded. "Agree I must. Yet continue the battle we must." He seemed to focus into the distance as he continued. "Always two there are, in every tale we know. One dark, one light. Two sides."

"Balance," Qui-Gon injected, suddenly apprehensive. "A balance of contrasts. Just as in every tale there are young and old, ugly and beautiful, wise and dumb, and so on."

"Not nearly as easy life is," Master Yoda replied with a smile.

"But near enough," Qui-Gon countered. 

The ancient Jedi Master nodded. "Agree I do. The gift of the Jedi it is to see beyond appearances, to see beauty in something ugly. Dangerous it is, though, for sometimes see we do mercy in cruelty."

"Which is why the Jedi must always guard against the Dark Side," Qui-Gon concluded. "I understand. But Master Jorka always seemed to be following that principle, and he still fell from his path."

"Misunderstand you do, Qui-Gon Jinn. Afraid always I was more of Alamys Jorka falling to the Dark Side than your own teacher."

__

That came as a surprise. "Why?" 

"True to their principles and beliefs both were. Yet Count Dooku's principles are stronger. His own they are, fully so. Alamys Jorka, believe he did with all his heart in the code of the Order. Yet his the code was not. A tool it was for him, to judge others by, as well as himself." Yoda nodded to himself, as if for reassurance. "Warn him I did. Prevent his fall I could not."

Qui-Gon Jinn lapsed into thoughtful silence. He had never considered it that way. And suddenly he realized that he indeed had learned more from Count Dooku than he could ever have learned from Master Jorka. To be true to his own principles. They might not coincide with all rules of the code, but they were close enough and he could fully believe in them. What good was a Jedi if he was not certain what he stood for? There may be more sides to life than just two, more shades of gray than one, but all that mattered was to know what side oneself stood on. And Qui-Gon Jinn knew exactly what side he stood on, and what side Xanatos had chosen. 

He nodded at last and said: "I understand, Master Yoda."

"Good. When ready you are, another student will join you. To waste your talents the right you have not," he added with a wink.

Blushing slightly, Qui-Gon smiled. "No, master. You are right. Thank you. I appreciate your insight."

"Questions are to be answered, so ask you will, if questions you do have."

"Certainly." 

When Yoda rose laboriously from the cushion Qui-Gon stood too, and then he escorted the Jedi Master over to the door. Before he left, the tiny alien squinted up at the much taller human, a calculating look in his eyes. "Request the Council does your presence in tonight's meeting."

"Oh," Qui-Gon managed, at a loss of what else to say.

Yoda nodded again to himself. "Reward we do not failure, but insight," he explained. "Attained enough insight you have to receive the rank of Jedi Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. Await you we will."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Qui-Gon standing dumb-founded and slightly shocked. So that had been the real puspose of Yoda's visit, to test him. He shook his head quickly, and admiration flooded his awareness. Yoda certainly was an adept teacher, and the wisest among the Order's members. Smiling, the Jedi Knight soon to be Jedi Master turned back toward the living-room, to meditate on the future.

Patience. Patience was needed to fight this battle, but Alamys Jorka was hanging on to patience with his teeth, and he longed to simply shred it apart and be free again. But, as it was, Darth Sidious had well and truly incarcerated him in a body that was failing and a mind that was not entirely his own any more. His memory had been reduced to glide-hanging over an abyss of oblivion, and everything he did remember needed to be triggered by some stimulus or other, and then recovered in tedious, meticulous work against a crushing wall of blank space that seemed to fill his head. The Jedi Master had known the effects of the Motha Virus once upon a time, but now he was being hounded by them, and he had no clue how to fight them effectively. All he did know was that he was fighting a losing battle.

His body protested each movement with cramps and stabs of pain, no matter what he did. And his predicament hindered him immensely from carrying out his self-imposed mission of bringing Darth Sidious down. On Nar Shadaa he had begun to establish contacts to informants who might become useful in the future and he was working his way steadily into the inner circles of Sidious' network of agents. But that took time, and in the meantime Sidious could further his plans unpertubed. Frustrated with his lack of success and embattled by the virus, Alamys was gradually losing sight of his goals, though. He was exhausted and confused, and if there was one thing he had realized in his clearer moments, it was that he needed to find a way to contain his illness first, before he could begin anew. 

The problem was, that he often tracked down a promising rumour of some remedy and a year later, as if waking from a dream, he would find himself stuck on some planet with not a clue what he was doing there, and how he had survived over the past months. It frightened him to be so helpless, and he wanted to combat the virus with much more force, and yet ... and yet, what was he willing to sacrifice for that? As long as Alamys was unaware of his illness, lost in a stupor of fever and forgetfulness, he was safe from darkness. But the moment his memory was returned, however briefly, he railed against his fate and was still doomed to keep going as he had before. 

There is no emotion – There is peace. There is no ignorance – There is knowledge. There is no passion – There is serenity. There is no death – There is the Force.

It was his mantra in those dark moments, the hope he clung to, if there was any hope at all. 

To the Jedi Master those waking moments were nightmares, the worst kind, and he sought in vain for a way out. Trying to find a remedy, something, was his sole directive then, and he devoted himself to that goal dilligently, but with less patience each time that game began anew. Sometimes he felt overcome with desperate mirth, watching himself from the outside, a knight in rags chasing after some fairy-tale treasure that he could never reach. For now he had found refuge on Malika, not one step closer to salvation than four years ago. And Alamys felt that soon now he would succumb to the next onslaught of the virus, until he would wake again somewhere strange. Uprooted and homeless, he imagined hismelf wandering the galaxy forever. 

No.

He would find a way. Somehow. There had to be that day when he could reclaim his life. Somewhere. Somewhere in the future.

TBC


	13. A lesson more

The future, Roj Kell had always found, was interesting in being unknown and boring in being a repetition of the past in almost all cases. He knew, of course, that his unique perspective allowed him to spot the similarities much more easily, yet he always felt slightly disappointed when he found himself standing at the same crossroads he had mastered decades or even centuries ago. Take thise one: Like any of his students, Darth Sidious would not survive him. That he knew with certainty, if only because he was totally confident in that he would persevere, as he always did. His journey, he felt, was not over by a long shot, and he had not yet reached that oneness he strived for, to become one with what he had been named for. 

Over time, and a long time it was, the ancient Sith had had many obsessions, but his most lasting and most passionate one was acquiring knowledge, and accumulating wisdom from that knowledge. In that he was a restless wanderer, open to everything new, and that was the cause for his being constantly disappointed. So far, he had to admit, Sidious had not been a disappointment. His resentment and hatred were refreshing, considering that Kell's past students had been much more determined to learn, had been much more subservient, up until the point where their apprenticeship ended. If it ended at all. His first apprentice had not survived even one month, because Kell had been fed up quickly with the boy's stupidity. It had taken him a long time to realize that he was expecting his students to meet his own level from the very beginning. Which was impossible, of course, and ridiculous an assumption. 

But Sidious ... Sidious had come to him with a purpose, and that alone had proven that the younger Sith had already reached a level of shrewdness that came close to Kell's own. Close, but at a certain point it veered off in a totally different direction. It could be the fact that Roj Kell had had millennia to cultivate perfection, and Sidious was trying to achieve that in much less time. And succeeding. Which was the remarkable part of this observation. The less pleasant one was that Darth Sidious had an impatience concelaed within a seemingly endless supply of longanimity that was driving his mind into disturbing fantasies of glory. His thoughts were never focused on the here and now, always in the future, always craving more. Not craving knowledge, though, but craving power. The problem was, that there was only so much power one could handle. 

"Blithe Arkad!" 

Roj Kell's head snapped around at the sound of the unfamiliar voice calling out a familiar name. His eyes narrowed slightly as he spotted the newcomer who drew closer, waving foolishly. He had been slightly surprised to have his contact here on Obroa-skai insist on a meeting, because the man was too unimportant to care for that, but something had told him that he should agree anyway. Now, though, seeing who was following the squat figure of Do Rahma, the ancient Sith Lord almost bit his tongue in frustration. Qui-Gon Jinn. What was _he_ doing here?

"An honor to meet you at last!" Do Rahma exclaimed once he had reached the library booth where Kell had been waiting. Rahma turned back to his companion, beaming. "Master Arkad is an expert on historical documents and history in general."

"Is he?" Qui-Gon Jinn asked, brow arched in distant surprise.

"Indeed." Rising from his seat, Kell shrugged off his anger and smiled. "And what brings you here?"

"A quest for knowledge, of course. Do Rahma was so good as to arrange this meeting for me. I did not know I would be meeting _you_, though."

"A sentiment we share, then." The ancient Sith shot his informant a cold glare, then nodded at Qui-Gon to follow. The two of them started walking down the aisle and toward the garden outside. "I heard of Crion's death. A nasty business."

The flash of grief that crossed the Jedi's blue eyes was unmistakable. "I had no choice," he said, but his tone was very quiet. Then, shaking his head curtly to get rid of the memories, he looked straight at the older man. "Of course, sometimes choices are not our own." A cold smile curled up the corners of Kell's lips and he opened his mouth slightly as if to answer, but he turned away again, seemingly deciding to keep quiet after all. But Qui-Gon would not leave him be. "What?" he demanded? "What is wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I suppose. For some it might be enough." But not for the likes of Qui-Gon Jinn. Rounding on the Jedi again he added. "Had you taken the initiative back on Telos you might have been able to convince Xanatos of the validity of your principles. Perhaps you gave up too easily."

"I don't think so," the Jedi countered miserably.

"Then you do not understand anything about choices. _You_ make your choices, no one else. When you came to Telos for the very first time you did not press Crion to send his boy to the Jedi for training. You were more insightful then. He was never meant for you to train."

Qui-Gon seemed non-plussed. "Why?"

"You say you came here to seek knowledge," Roj Kell answered quietly. "Perhaps you should learn to follow your instincts first."

The Jedi looked doubtful. "And what should that have to do with my quest?"

"Everything, I believe. Some of us follow reason and are meant to follow reason. Others, though, should follow their heart and convictions." He gave the younger man a meaningful glance and watched realization dawn on Qui-Gon's face. He had hit right on target here, Kell found, and thought it with satisfaction. 

"What path do _you_ follow, Blithe Arkad?" the Jedi asked at last. 

"Neither," came the enigmatic answer. "Now, what was it again that you needed information on?"

Four months passed, and with it Sidious' resentment. Instead of delving on self-pity and mind-numbing fantasies of revenge, he had resolved to prove to his master that he was more mature than that. Keeping very cool, he let not let his true feelings show. For there still was that desire to prove his mastery in blood, but it was muted, like a faint echo. And Roj Kell certainly did his best to provoke him constantly. Perhaps it therefore was no coincidence that during those four months Sidious only found the time for two more visits to Sullust. Out of career reasons, of course. But his master had made it clear that he would tolerate no more excuses. He had brought him here, to some world Sidious had never been before.

The two Sith, with the older man dressed in his usual plain clothes and Sidious still wearing a more formal attire of Nubian style, stepped onto the virgin dew-covered clearing from their ship's landing ramp, both keeping silent for a while. Sidious, in remembrance of their trip to Railltir, immediately suspected an attack, but the cool, fresh air brought only peaceful sounds to them. Birds were chatting among the trees and the undergrowth rustled now and then, but there was nothing alarming about this setting. Curious, Sidious stole a glance at his mentor, only to find a hard grin on the older man's face, a grin that was savage, to say the least. 

When he noticed the younger Sith Lord's eyes on him, Kell detached his lightsaber handle deliberately slowly from his belt. 

"We won't need our weapons," he told Sidious calmly, but the Nubian noticed that the man did not, in fact, put his weapon aside, but was waiting for him to rid himself of his own first. 

Defering to age, Sidious made a show of retrieving his own lightsaber handle from his robes. It was torn from his grasp without warning and flung carelessly into the interior of the ship, where he heard the metal handle clatter into some corner. Roj Kell, whose right hand still was outstretched toward the ship, was smiling.

"Don't fret, Sidious. _That_ time will come soon enough."

The younger man blushed furiously, but did not reply. It seemed that his master would not cease his provoking him anytime soon. But then, to his mild surprise, Kell's own lightsaber followed his own and landed just as carelessly on the deck. Then the landing ramp retreated and the ship closed itself off from the atmosphere, awaiting the two Sith Lords' return. 

"No provisions?" Sidious found himself asking suddenly. 

Roj Kell shook his head. "We won't be needing them. There are people living not far away. We will pay them a visit." 

"Just that?" Sidious shot back, unimpressed by his master's secrecy.

"A lesson on belief," the older man explained. "They believe in a terrible goddess that protects them against their enemies, and they have fierce enemies. These people fear nothing and no one and that lack of fear makes them formidable foes. Should you try one of your tricks with them they will not relent until they have overwhelmed you, no matter how many of them die."  


"Then we shall shake their belief a bit," Sidious promised in a delighted purr.

"_Someone's_ belief, anyway," Roj Kell added quietly, then strode off toward the forest. 

For a moment Sidious remained rooted in place, but then he started after his master somewhat grudgingly. Catching up to Kell, Sidious stepped into the woods. The trees, rising into the sky like giant pillars, were bare bark except for the crown, and the undergrowth was low and thick, so the two men could walk over the elastic creepers like over a soft carpet. The advantage was that this allowed them to move almost without making any sound. The disadvantage, of course, was that they were not concealed from prying eyes. Well, Sidious mused, in that case whoever those eyes belonged to would stand exposed too. Only belatedly did he realize that the fact that the undergrowth was too low to conceal the two Sith Lords did not mean that it was not perfect to hide something _else_. Crevices, for example. 

With an audible crack, Sidious' left boot broke through the shrub and his leg was swallowed up to his knee. He could sense the hole underneath, and reasoned that it might be wiser to test the rest of the undergrowth before he managed to plunge into some unknown depth by accident. Somewhat indignant, he glared at Roj Kell, who studied him in silence, his pale eyes strangely curious, as if watching some speciman in an experiment. With sweat accumulating on his brow, the younger Sith Lord tried to heave himself out of the trap again, careful to lean only part of his weight on the shrubs surrounding him. All the while his master stood on the swaying, treacherous forest floor, not inclined to lift a finger to help him. Then something else caught Sidious' attention. He could sense movement underneath, and fancied hearing muffled voices. Extending his senses, he could pick up about five presences. Primitive minds, but single-minded too. Something tugged on his boot, and he gave a slightly desperate grunt.

"Oh my. I think -," he breathed, preparing to unleash his power on the unsuspecting hunters who seemed deliriously joyous over having caught some prey, but at the same instant the weight on his leg increased, and he was unceremoniously dragged underneath the shrub. After long moments of sharp, gnarled twigs tearing at his clothes, face and hands, he dropped heavily onto rock. A hard blow to his head knocked him out, and he gratefully sank into dark oblivion. 

Roj Kell took his time following the invisible maze of ravines and crevices that permeated the forest. Without thinking, he wandered the safe passages overhead, where the shrub grew over hard ground, like he had many times before. He liked this world, especially because here the game of life had not been refined by civilization. Here it was pure, honest survival. For Sidious, who was more used to political back-stabbing and behind-the-doors scheming, this was new territory. Being honest with himself, Kell had to admit that he could not teach Sidious anything else about politics, not only because he himself did not have the detailed grasp on everyday proceedings that Sidious himself had, but also because it did not interest him. What he _could_ teach him, and what he _had_ taught him, were stealth and deception, as well as control over oneself and others using already existing emotions. Now though, this last test would determine whether Sidious would need some more lessons before he could be released from his bonds to his master. 

As he walked down a slope into a small valley, he could sense the hunters gathering all around him, undecided about his appearance. They saw him as enemy and intruder, of course, but so far they were not certain whether he was worth killing. Sidious, the ancient Sith could sense, was not with this band. They had separated, obviously, and the others would be carrying their prey into their village. Suddenly the roar of a giant Neiwar reverbrated throughout the forest and the hunters broke into skittish activity. Scouts were being sent out to determine the whereabouts of the great predator and whether it was endangering the village. Oh well. He had spent enough time being civilized. This would be _fun_.

Once he had reached the valley floor a number of the hunters appeared from the shrubs, their squat bodies clad in leather loin-cloths and a few decorative leather strips around arms and ankles. The were barely tall enough to reach Kell's navel. But he knew that they were not to be underestimated. Their tiny yellow-black eyes were watching him keenly. The hunters' over-sized heads rested on stick-thin necks and small shoulders, and their rounded bodies were propelled by slightly bent, muscular legs. They walked on tip-toe, and had developed an unwavering sense for balance, which they needed if they were to navigate the rocky mazes underneath the shrubs successfully and with speed. After the staring match had lasted a few minutes, one of the hunters, this one wearing a red stripe around his forehead, stepped forward and garbled at the Sith Lord. 

He gave the speaker a thin smile, that widened into an unfriendly grin, exposing almost all of his teeth. The lead hunter's head jerked back cautiously, then he hefted a short spear and brought it up to his shoulder, the sharp wooden point aimed at the tall human. He snarled an interrogative at the Sith, who promptly snarled back. In a chorus of fast excited gibberish, the assembled hunters darted back into the safety of the underbrush. Shrugging, Kell followed. The crevices were too low for him to walk upright, but he did not mind. Sandstone made up the walls, and the shrubs overhead gave off a faint, sweet scent. He smiled. No doubt they would try to divert his attention from the village, but they would have other problems to deal with. That was – Above his head small pebbles came loose and slid down to the bottom of the crevice. He stared at them. Perhaps he should not have left his lightsaber on the ship after all. 

The setback of his falling into his hunter mode was that he truly did think like a hunter, and that led to his focusing too much on his prey. That way he had totally missed the fact that the Neiwar was now stalking _him_, instead of the small forest dwellers. The giant predator was a reptile sporting huge pranks with three toes set wide apart so it would not accidentially get stuck in the treacherous ravines underneath the forest floow. Of course, those clawed toes were also perfect for ripping apart the shrub and angling for the smaller prey that hid from sight underneath. The Neiwar had a sleek built, otherwise, and its elongated snout served also as a shovel, if it needed to dig into underground caves to get at its food. Right now that snout was sniffing inquisitively at the unfamiliar scent coming from the human Sith. 

Closing his eyes, Roj Kell concentrated on the Neiwar's mind. _That's right. There is nothing here for you. _A shout interrupted his thoughts and he grimaced in disdain. The Neiwar gave a grunt and seemingly turned away from the crevice to confront this new challenge. He leapt away and landed heavily not far away, making the ground shake all around the ancient Sith. Fed up, Kell made his way back out into the small valley to see what was going on. The hunters, it seemed, had surrounded the Neiwar and were now trying to bring him down. It was a young male, not fully grown, which was a blessing. He was twice as tall as Kell, with four meters in length, that was mostly taken up by his long, lashing tail. The beast roared at the hunters, who circled it in a complicated dance, singing softly under their breath. At seemingly random intervalls one or two of the hunters would leave the circle to stab at the Neiwar, and they were careful to arrange those stabs so that there was always at least one wound inflicted on the reptilian predator, and it had no chance to concentrate on one particular target. 

All right. Perhaps now was the time to interfere.

When Sidious woke again he found himself bound wrists and ankles and hanging upside down on some sort of pole, which was carried on the shoulders of four of the small alien hunters. Considering their small height, that left the Sith Lord's back and head brushing the ground most of the time. He certainly was in no good mood anyway, and this treatment only fueled his anger more. Trying to twist upright he glanced around to see where they were headed. A village, if he was not mistaken, squatting in a small clearing, almost filling it from edge to edge. A palisade had been erected around the dwellings and a single opening served as gate. Sentinels gave warning as they spotted the approaching hunting party and soon the muddy path leading into the village was filled with a cheering crowd. Young or old, male or female, the looks directed at the Sith Lord all conveyed the same proud joy over a good catch. 

The hunters dropped their burden in the small square situated in the midst of the village, right at the foot of a tall pole that overlooked the rows of rounded huts. Looking up, Sidious found himself glaring at some sort of relic, the mummified body of one of the alien tribes' females, by the look of it. He remembered Kell telling him about their worshipping some goddess, and now he understood why his master had called this a lesson on belief. Obviously the old crone had been alive once, a fearsome ruler, probably, who, in the minds of her people, had become a goddess over time. It was a primitive belief if ever he had seen one. A grin spread on his features. It was amazing what people would come up with in the dark hours of their lives, what they set their faith in. A mummy? Ridiculous. 

There was only one thing to believe in: power.

Eyes narrowing, Sidious moved to free himself, but suddenly the hard wodden point of a spear dug into his neck, threatening to break through skin and flesh if he continued. Enraged already, the Sith Lord used his anger to fling the spear and its bearer away. A cry went up from the crowd, and a wave of surprise swept all over the square. Sidious ignored it and proceeded to free himself of the leather straps used to bind him. But they held fast, and without a knife even he would be hard-pressed to break them. Surprise turned into curiosity, and the crowd drew nearer again. A voice began talking, sounding amused, and there was only a tiny flash of warning before the Nubian found his back punctured by another spear. The pain was most acute and drove a spike of outrage right into his brain. He was about ready to slaughter the entire assembly, but in the last moment he held back, realizing that that would still leave him bound and helpless.

Snarling like a wild beast, Sidious twisted his body around and managed to sit up somewhat awkwardly, facing his captors. And Roj Kell. The ancient Sith Lord stood tall among another band of hunters, these laden with raw, dripping meat. "What - is - going - on," Sidious demanded, his voice an aggressive hiss. Was Kell a prisoner too? It did not look like he was, considering that these aliens seemed to treat their captives not all that friendly. His master did not answer, but for a moment his cool, pale green eyes held a look of such contempt, that Sidious felt shame flood his mind instantly. This was a lesson, not a battle. A lesson on belief, Kell had called it, anmd Sidious thought he understood now what was required of him. These people believed very firmly in their goddess, whatever her origins, and it was that belief he needed to shatter. But neither coercion nor brute force would get him very far here. 

Then how was he going to accomplish his mission?

Suspicion flashed through his mind as he remembered a previous lesson, one on deception and the power of words. All information he had was due to his master, and he had learned the hard way that trusting Roj Kell was always the worst choice. Except when it was the only one. Closing his eyes in concentration, Sidious tried to garner a feel for his captors, to determine their weak points, if they had any. And then, with concentration came calm, and with calm his confidence returned. This was not an unsolvable problem, not at all. A smile began forming on his lips, but he was startled back into reality when a cloth of some sort was gently pressed against the wound in his back.

"Hold still," Roj Kell murmured softly in his ear. "We don't want you to bleed to death just now, do we?"

"No?"

The answer was firm. "No. You're on the right track. Now let's see you play this to the end."

Standing back, the ancient Sith Lord left the circle of hunters that began to form around the pole and the captured Nubian. Sidious was not hurt bad, and that would prevent him from realising what his mentor was accomplishing by using this particular training method. Never before had Kell been so cruel in tutoring a fledgling student, but then, Sidious was anything but ignorant. On the contrary. But the younger man also was full of resentment, an inheritence of his apprenticeship to this Darth Nexus. The more Sidious got kicked, the more he drew in on himself, nurturing his hatred and always avoiding an open confrontation. The main source of this behaviour though was, as Kell believed, the Nubian heritage that still held the man in its grip. Nexus had only intensified it, and probably had done so deliberately, to keep his student under control. 

Back on Railltir Kell had managed to bring Sidious out of his reserve, and the younger Sith Lord had struck at him, trying to vent his frustration and anger at last. As reward he had spared his life, which had been a great reward indeed, for the ancient Sith did not take a death threat lightly. Sidious probably interpreted clemency as weakness, but in truth it was a different sort of power, one Sidious would learn to use too, over time, and especially once he had accomplished this test. These people only believed in one power, that of their goddess. Their belief was so strong, that they feared nothing, and would not fear Sidious either. That his apprentice had understood, and he was now pondering a plan of action that would gain him his freedom and ultimately the subservience of these people. 

It was a test for Roj Kell too, for his convictions and his ideals. Even though he did manipulate and goad people into changing their set of beliefs he prided himself in using what was already there, in showing them their true self, their true destiny. What Sidious was going to do, if he suceeded, was a total conversion of faith, something the ancient Sith loathed. What faith Sidious would create in place of the old would be based on nothing but lies, and those would not be these people's lies, but the Sith Lord's. Still, the battle had not even started. Looking up, he regarded the body propped up on the pole, studying it closely. A goddess of mortal origins. Was there any other way that gods came to be? They were all born out of the desires of mortals, even if they had no real form. But what was real? The ancient Sith Lord smiled. It was one thing to be able to see, and quite another to understand. For now Darth Sidious had seen, and believed to have understood. That would soon change. Very soon. 

TBC


	14. Initiation Rites

Evening was falling quickly as the hunters freed their prey from the carrying pole, but left his 

wrists and ankles bound together. Bearing his situation with quiet dignity, Sidious sat in silence, trying to gain these people' s respect with showing himself to be fearless and calm. The women gathered fire-wood and stacked it up in small neat piles, six in total, that were spread in a circle around Sidious and the pole bearing the mummified goddess. Roj Kell, he found, had retreated further, barely visible in the dusky gloom. A cheer went up from the crowd suddenly, and from where Sidious sat he could see a torch dance above their heads as one of their number made his way over to the circle. When he came into view Sidious almost smiled. Dressed like the others this one wore additional jewelry, charms, most probably, feathers and claws and strange-looking roots. A crown of trinkets adorned his bald head and his tiny eyes were sunken deeply into a leathery face lined with age. A shaman of sorts, the Sith Lord guessed. 

The newcomer looked sharply at Roj Kell, who, to his student's surprised, took a respectful step back. Amazed, Sidious shook his head. He never would have thought that his mentor would yield to anyone, much less show respect! The shaman, carrying the torch, began chanting softly, and after a while the crowd fell into that chant at certain intervalls, sometimes shouting forcefully, sometimes whispering. Touching the torch to each pile as he rounded the circle, the shaman lit the fires and soon the small square was awash with the light of yellow flames, making shadows dance wildly across the earthen huts. Sparks flew everywhere, and the rising wind threw them high into the air so they almost rivaled the stars spread above. All the while the shaman kept up his chant. When all fires were burning to his satisfaction he took a step back, facing the mummified female directly. On cue, the hunters hefted their short wooden spears and began to dance to the females' rythmic singing. It was all really quaint and amusing, Sidious found, but reluctantly he found himself drawn into their spell. 

Apparently it was customary with these people to honor their prey with a ceremony such as this one. He had heard that primitive tribes often held such traditions, and suddenly he wondered whether that was the reason for Kell's acting so strangely. After all, the Jen-People, Roj Kell's own clan, had also been a primitive people. Seeing his master in a much different and new light, Sidious was torn between fascination and contempt. Perhaps that was the reason for the man's lack of ambition and refusal of real power. Some ancient religion, perhaps, that bound him to some strange oath. His smile widened. Here was an interesting thought ... All the while the dance grew faster, the singing louder, until it ended abruptly in a single shout uttered by dozens of throats. The dancers stopped as if struck by lightning. And a crackling sound from above made Sidious look up. 

Eyes widening in surprise, he watched the mummy unfold its stiff limbs ever so slowly as she moved her head over the edge of the small platform she sat on. Empty eyes gazed at the Sith Lord out of infinity, and he felt himself scrutinized by something far more powerful than he had expected. Mouth running dry, he realized that again he had put too much trust in appearances and words. But this was impossible! He did not believe in the supernatural! How could this old crone be alive? Rising ever so slowly, her body crackling softly, the goddess stood and extended her hands to the heavens. The shaman gave a piercing cry in response, and suddenly the dancers took up where they had left off, stomping wildly to the voices of the females, and drums joined their steady beat, building a cacaphony of such intensity that Sidious thought he might go mad! Then the dancers began picking up branches from the burning piles, waving the torches above their heads in imitation of their goddess. They were weaving intricate patterns through the darkness of night, making Sidious feel dizzy. 

The rhythmic shouts and drums quickly made his heart beat in tune and it galloped away wildly in his chest, intensifying his uneasiness. Eyes wide, Sidious realized that if he did not manage to break the spell he would be rendered helpless after all. With difficulty he calmed himself again, closing his eyes for a moment, but they snapped open instantly when he almost sickened up. Breathing in deeply, the Sith Lord let his anger drain away. It was shaming for him to do so, but it was what his master had taught him time and again. It had to be good for _something_. Slowly, he looked up again to face the goddess, but she ignored him, her empty gaze fixed on the sky. Then a movement close by made Sidious drop his eyes once more, to find the shaman standing before him. The tiny creature garbled something at him, and it sounded like an insult. 

"The great spirit is with you too," a distinctly beautiful, embodied voice translated, floating through the darkness dotted with fire. "It is a challenge," Roj Kell added quietly. "They honor you, but this ritual will break you, if you don't act quickly. They are quite powerful in their own way."  


Sidious gave a slow nod, as much to tell his mentor he had heard as to show the shaman that he had understood. So that was why Kell was standing back. The old coward never entered a fight he could not win. Almost disgusted, Sidious called one of the burning branches to him and let it hover. The shaman's eyes went big as teacups and he whispered a short incantation. The fire died. Sidious gave a mirthless smile. Cute, that trick, but he could do the same. Three more torches darted over to the Sith Lord and this time, before his opponent could react, Sidious extended his bound hands and stuck his crossed wrists right into the flames. Realizing his intent, the tiny shaman moved to extinguish the torches again, but Sidious was just as fast and channelled the heat into his adversary as that one held on to it. With a cry the shaman stumbled back, and Sidious dramatically broke the leather bands apart that had held his hands and had been burned through by the flames. Now he only needed to free his ankles. But as he bent down to do just that he did not spare any attention on the shaman, who was still reeling from the attack. Which proved to be an almost fatal mistake.

Roj Kell was smiling to himself as he watched Sidious perform like a street-conjurer, with as much disdain for his audience. It was clear that the younger Sith saw this as mere child's play, but then, he _always_ tended to underestimate his enemies. While his student's attention was fixed on the shaman, the ancient Sith was more aware of the mummy standing atop the pole, arms stretched upward, almost as if in trance. While the crowd around her was sinking into confusion, she stood unmoving, then began swaying slightly to an unheard tune. But Roj Kell knew that song intimately, and he found it speaking to him too. Eyes falling half close, he breathed deeply, sensing a curious warmth spread through his body. Drowsy, he dropped down where he stood in the shadows at the edge of the square and continued to watch the duel unfolding before them in fascination. 

A distant rumble caught his attention and he looked up, groggy, to find clouds racing toward the clearing, a storm gathering. He smiled in delight at the spectacle, but a scream focused his gaze back on his apprentice. Sidious' eyes might as well have thrown sparks for the ferocity that burned in them as he faced the shaman. The tiny alien, totally calm, had thrown a necklace around the Sith Lord's neck, a charm that allowed him to control his victim to a certain extent. Jerking upright, Sidious was the epitome of indignation and rage. And the crowd began laughing at the unexpected turn of events. The shaman made an announcement to the assembled tribe that brought more gales of laughter and enraged Sidious even more. Despite himself, Roj Kell joined in the small aliens' mirth. And still he kept his eyes focused on the storm, and the goddess. 

"Why, you pitiful little midget!" Sidious exclaimed, tearing at the necklace brutally and flinging it away in a shower of small bones and other charms. "I'll show you just what – " He did not get any further. 

With startling abruptness lightning flashed down from the black clouds in the night sky above and wreathed the Sith Lord in white-hot electricity. For a moment Roj Kell felt his heart stop with concern and he sat up straighter, frowning. This was unexpected, and it could kill Sidious .... Tensing all over, the ancient Sith Lord prepared to interfere, but he needn't have bothered. Painfully slow his student calmed his spasming limbs, his face eerily serene as he straightened up, wrapped in a blue fire of darkness. Kell could feel the lightning stab through the younger man's body mercilessly, but it caused no harm, on the contrary. Sidious had found his focus and could channel the deadly power safely, which would have been impossible for him to do had he let his rage continue to control him further. This sort of self-control under extreme stress was excellent, to say the least. Eyes gleaming with satisfaction, Roj Kell felt his smile return. 

"Now," he whispered softly under his breath, "take their hearts and make them yours."

Darth Sidious felt a terrible calm spread throughout his body, as serene as death itself. But he knew he was winning. The shaman stood facing him, mouth agape and yellow-black eyes wide with disbelief. _So, this is the worst you can do, is it?_ Sidious thought nastily, but never lost his focus. In a way he had separated emotion from reason, and it was reason that allowed him to absorb the lightning hurled at him from above. Yet it was still hard for him to express his triumph the way he wanted. Forcing a smile on his lips slowly, he raised his left hand, watching the shaman follow its arc in fascination. Then, releasing the power bottled within himself, Sidious let it obliterate the pole standing at his back, and the goddess with it. 

Gradually his heart-beat quickened again and he felt feeling return to his body. Incredibly satisfied, he raised his head high. Pride flooded his entire being, and he basked in its radiant glow gratefully. 

This was it. This was true control. Now he could do _anything_. Anything at all.

Lowering his gaze again he fixed his opponent in a cold glare. All that was left for this would-be-sorcerer was surrender. Here, in front of his entire tribe. Oh, the humiliation would be worth everything to watch! Hah! He could see the assembly gaze as one at the shaman, rigid with anticipation as they waited for his reaction. Wrapped in smoke and the stink of burned dead flesh, Darth Sidious stood like a god on judgement day himself. Yes, he was a god, he was _their_ god!

"Bow to your god," he hissed, his smile turning into an inhuman snarl.

The shaman's answer was as fierce at it was abrupt. His tiny body seemed to convulse in anger as he said a single word, right hand clenched tightly into a fist. Then he dropped to the ground, dead. Bereft of his revenge, Sidious felt like screaming out loud. But then he caught Roj Kell's eye and decided against showing that much disappointment over the shaman's cowardly departure. What had he said? What had he called him? Frowning, Sidious glared at the assembled tribes-people. They shied away from his gaze, seeking reassurance from one another. Then the ones standing closest slowly began to kneel, outstretched palms and foreheads pressed on the ground. This was more like it! Taking a deep breath, Sidious felt his chest swell again with triumph. He could sense that they were sincere in their worship, if slightly confused. But that was unimportant. All that mattered was that he had succeeded. 

"Very nice," he said softly. "And true faith deserves to be rewarded, does it not?"

Half an hour later, upon reaching the edge of the square where Roj Kell still sat unmoving, his face gleaming in the light of the fires, Darth Sidious came to a stop and propped his hands on his thighs, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath again. "Mission accomplished, master," he managed, gulping for more air. 

"Yes." 

Sidious looked up into the other's eyes, frowning. There had been something in the old man's voice, something strange. "Master?" he asked tentatively, but Kell made a dismissive gesture and rose from his seat on the ground. Automatically Sidious bent down to grab his master's cloak and handed it to him. Taking it without looking at Sidious, Kell nodded at the village burning to ashes around them. 

"You have overcome your deepest fears, have shed the last bonds of your past. You have embraced your destiny fully." His enchanting voice seemed to echo the roaring voices of the flames, and Sidious felt his own blood sing in his ears with pride. "Come," Roj Kell told him with a nod. "We are leaving."

"Master, where to?"

"You will follow where I lead, apprentice," the ancient Sith said in a hiss, and suddenly Darth Sidious felt his heart nearly stop in dread. 

That had been lesson number one, not to question, only to follow and observe. He nodded mutely and plodded after the older man, pondering the events of this night and what they might mean. Perhaps this way he could find out where they were going. His heart was still racing from the excertion, the thrill of power, and it slowed only gradually. So he had embraced his destiny fully? He had done that years ago, when he had first decided to become what he was now. He had learned all there was to learn, had studied dilligently, and now he had reached the same point where he had begun? Or did this mean something else? 

His breathing quickened ever so slightly. Perhaps his master had decided that it was time for Sidious to embrace not only his destiny, but also his reward for long years of hardship. If so, then they would be going to Korriban, for Sidious to be initiated as Sith Master. That vision was so elating that Sidious did not even realize that they had reached their ship already. Tearing himself out of his daydreaming, the Sith Lord shot a guilty glance at Roj Kell, who was smiling at him, that old mocking smile that Sidious hated so much.

"Indeed, apprentice," he said softly. "Our destination is the world of the dead, Korriban."

Needless to say that Sidious spent the journey in a joyous stupor, full of fervent dreams of glory, of his achieving all of his goals, gaining the power he knew he was destined to wield. Yet when they arrived on the stormy planet of Korriban the mood seemed to change abruptly. The gloomy world doused his enthusiasm somewhat as he remembered his initiation as Sith apprentice all those years ago, his apprenticeship to Darth Nexus, his first master's death. He was no longer in control of his life, he realized then, was not his own master anymore. He was simply a follower. Doubt gushed his mind hotly. Deep down he knew that he deserved to be awarded at last, that he would fight this time, should Kell deny him what was rightly his. Doubt was replaced by determination.

"Good, good," he heard his master mutter to himself, as they entered the underground maze of the destroyed Temple of the Dead. It had yielded to the unrelenting fire of a Republic fleet, centuries ago, Sidious knew.

Suddenly he felt very suspicious. He knew his master well enough to realize that he might be playing again, toying with his apprentice's mind to confuse him. This time, though, Sidious vowed to emerge on top of the game. They reached the large cave-like hall that had eroded over the centuries, as water dripped down into the room through holes that had been punched through the rock ceiling by heavy lasers and falling masonry. Only remnants of the decorative carvings were still visible here, illuminated by the drab light that fell through a few of the holes. From time to time thunder beat down from above, echoing from the walls. In the midst of the chamber a weathered stone altar, edges broken, stood, almost not recognizable anymore. 

Roj Kell stopped a few paces from the altar, studying it closely. A knife appeared in his hands at a flick of his wrist, an ornate dagger. In an instant Sidious felt his heart beat up in his throat. Pointing toward the altar with the dagger, Roj Kell waited until the apprentice had obediently knelt down before the slab of stone, waiting in dire anticipation. 

"You have done very well, Darth Sidious, and even exceeded my expectations," the ancient Sith began, his magical voice filling the entire chamber easily. "That is a very rare occurence. Therefore I deem you ready to become master of the Dark Side, to follow the Dark Lords of the Sith and continue their legacy." Sidious could sense the old man step up behind him, and the tip of the dagger bore slightly into the base of his neck. If he answered wrong now, he would die, he knew. Not that he would refuse that offer, not at all! "I ask you once, Darth Sidious, for once you shall pass this portal, or never. Are you prepared to take up the torch of darkness and carry it further into the light?"

"I am prepared and ready," Sidious breathed, his voice trembling with excitement. Yet his mind was very cool, swimming in a sea of clearly defined objectives, thoughts and plans. There was chaos, but it was controlled, there was passion, yet it was reined in. There was no fear. 

The point of the dagger withdrew, and there was a sound of something being cut. Sidious almost flinched when a drop of warm blood fell on his brow and clung to the lashes of his eyes. More drops followed, running down his forehead, his cheeks, dripping from his chin and the tip of his nose. 

"My world is darkness, my weapon is fear. My hatred devours all who stand in my path, my power shadows the light. For I am a child of darkness, I am heir to the fires of creation. I am chaos and I am death. My name is Sith."

Sidious repeated the words under his breath, along with the incantation spoken by his master, soon to be ex-master. 

"I have seen the dark heart of fear, the cold flame of hatred, I command the power of the Dark Side. I am reborn in flame as I become master of my fate, and the fate of those who oppose me."

Darth Sidious was so focused on the words, recited in that magical voice of shadows and moonlight, that he did not even flinch when he found himself the center of an icy blue fire. Rising slowly, he reached out to embrace that power, to suck it into his self, let it become one with himself. It was deadly cold, yet he warmed it with his power, tamed it with his own mind. Gradually it receded into his own body, filling him entirely, making him gasp in ecstasy. There was no thought in that void, no being, only power. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, he found himself back in the cave, standing upright, facing his master across the altar. Roj Kell had flipped the dagger around and held it handle first out to his former apprentice. Their eyes met across the slab of stone, as equals for the first time. He could not suppress a wicked smile as he took the knife. This was what he had been waiting for all those years. This was his reward. He was free at last, free to pursue his dreams, his goals, and make them happen. His smile widened into a toothy grin. 

"Do I get to kill my master now?" he asked slyly, and Roj Kell answered his grin with a cool smile of his own. 

"You may become master, Darth Sidious, but never mine," he answered calmly, and in that moment his presence seemed to expand beyond his mortal shell, a subtle reminder of his power, and in an instant Darth Sidious realized that he was indeed no match for Roj Kell. Yet. Nodding slowly, he raised his left hand and cut deeply into the palm, drawing blood. 

"I am Sith," he said at last, and reached out across the altar to lay his palm against that of his former master, sealing the bond that would finish the rite. Now he was bound to the Sith forever. 

Withdrawing again slowly, Sidious held Roj Kell's eyes with his, and neither of the two men looked away. They were still locked in that match when the wound in Sidious' hand closed again, leaving unbroken skin and completely whole flesh and sinews that had been slashed only moments before. 

"So you are," Roj Kell whispered, and his pale eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Be careful, though. Mastery spawns either wisdom or arrogance."

"In your case, both," Sidious shot back, annoyed. 

The older man laughed out loud. "Droll, very droll. I can see _you_ will not be experiencing any trouble in that regard."

"No," Darth Sidious whispered, "I don't think so either."

For a long moment neither man moved, but then Kell took another step back, signalling his retreat. Sidious turned to face him as he rounded the altar and walked toward the cave entrance without another word.

"So this where it ends?" Sidious asked calmly. 

For a moment Roj Kell lingered in the doorway. "Yes," he said at last. "This is where it ends. You are on your own now."

"And what is to hinder me from killing you eventually?"

"Eventually is not now, Sidious. And for now, my friend, you will consider very carefully whether fighting me is really worth it. I am leaving," he added very quietly. "Should you try to stop me now I will regret having to kill you after all."

He stepped out into the hallway followed by nothing but silence. Walking away, he found himself reminded of another time, another farewell, a long time ago. It had been on Alderaan, in a beautiful grove that had been fashioned into a graveyard, as he recalled. 

__

For a long time he had stood, listening to the funeral service. There had been lengthy speeches, tears and even some cordial laughter. He was certain that Hagen would have approved. The Jedi Master had died five years after their last encounter, perishing in a battle during the Welmayan Civil War, his ship torn apart by enemy fire. What a waste. Roj Kell had been deeply moved by his friend's death, and only then had he realized what Hagen Dycos' friendship had truly meant to him. 

After the service, with the crowd of attendees gradually dissolving into a sunny afternoon, he was joined by Kane Jinn. The former Jedi Knight did not say anything at first, leaving the older man time to adjust to his presence. Then, a few minutes had passed, Kell turned toward Kane, seeing the boy who had grown into a man, a Jedi Master like Hagen, no matter that he had left the Order. 

"Who would have thought we'd meet again like this?" Kane asked lightly.

"No one, I believe," Roj Kell answered, blinking into the afternoon sun, before he walked over to the fresh grave to examine it closely. The inscription of the tomb stone was very simple. 

Hagen Dycos – May The Force Be With You

Standing there in front of that grave, Roj Kell felt that his last ties to the Jedi Order had just been severed completely. Hagen had been his friend, they had respected one another, and after some discussions they had refrained from trying to convert the other to their respective beliefs. Yet a seed had been planted in each man's heart, and it had grown within Hagen, and had spread to Kane Jinn eventually, who now walked up to join Kell at the Jedi Master's grave. They stood in silence like that for a while. 

Then Kane said: "He sacrificed so much for the Order, and now I feel we have not given back even half of what he deserved. It makes me angry to think that such a great man should die as any other, and so senselessly too."

"Rewards are not something one should crave too much, Kane Jinn," Kell reminded the younger man." He found satisfaction in his deeds alone, not in what he accomplished. And yet, all that he has given will be returned one day, I know."

Looking sharply at the older man, Kane Jinn frowned deeply. "I wish I had your knowledge, Lord Kell," he whispered. "Then I would understand why we must go through such pain to achieve true happiness."  


"So others can walk in peace," the ancient Sith replied. Kneeling down at the grave he put a hand on the tomb stone's rough surface, letting his palm glide over the inscription. "May the Force be with you and guide you on your way into the future," he added solemnly, feeling his heart ache with grief. So many years ago Hagen had broken that cold heart once already, this time though, Kell felt the agony over his loss even more acutely. 

"Tell me," Kane Jinn asked very quietly. "Did you ever hope that he would continue your legacy? That he would become your successor?"  


He gazed up at that earnest face, those open blue eyes, and shook his head. "No. He gave me much reason to be proud, much joy at his accomplishments, and understanding. He was more than a friend to me." 

Kane tried a smile. "I know what you mean. My son, Jonell, he means the world to me. And I hope I can be as adept a father and teacher as you tried to be for Hagen. I know for certain that he appreciated everything you did for him."

"I am sure your son will have a good father in you," Roj Kell answered and rose again, declining the steadying hand offered by Kane. Facing the taller man, he could see a future in Kane Jinn's eyes. One of so many. "I wish you all the best for your journey," he said. "The Force is with you."

And that had been the last time he had seen Kane Jinn. He had avoided the Jedi from then on, but had kept himself informed on the Order's progress. Almost he had fallen prey to them again, when he had met the Jedi Master Yoda. That one was dangerous, immensely dangerous, and his knowledge of Kell's presence had forced the ancient Sith into exile for the past centuries. He had travelled through the unknown regions and beyond the galaxy, seeking new insights and finding the remains of old mistakes. Unfortunately those always had a habit of reflecting back on the initiator. It needed someone with wisdom and strength to counter the backlash they would create, and Darth Sidious was that one. He had all the assets, the will, determination and power he needed to succeed. 

But nothing was certain yet. Only time would tell whether the Sith would truly rise again. There was one Jedi he had deemed to take Hagen Dycos' place, though, and Qui-Gon Jinn was just as thoughtful as his ancestor's mentor. He would help the Sith Order to reclaim its glory. That was for sure. No need to tell Sidious, of course. Let him figure things out for himself. 

The Mali Royal Plaza was beautiful, with a colorful mosaic covering the barren earth and the dried-out fountain in the center of the plaza. Situated in the Mali Royal Quarter the plaza had once been among the most popular sights of the city, but decades of tyranny and neglect had turned the formerly elegant quarter into a dwelling place for the poor, and crime was high, the highest of the city. The Tyrant had declared the quarter off limits two years ago, and the security forces did not even bother with conducting investigations there these days, except for the weekly roundup of the usual suspects. 

Today the dust-covered plaza with its dry fountain and broken mosaic served as common shelter for the very poor, the homeless, that weren't bothered by even the meanest among the Mali's denizens, though from time to time unwary thugs would try to vent their frustration and anger on one or more of the helpless beggars. Those unfortunate rogues would soon learn that no one messed with the homeless, at least no one not caught in suicidal fantasies.

It had started four years ago, always very discreet, and no one dared ask questions, fearing that the 'helpless' beggars might hide more than one wanted to know. As it was, those were fairly ignorant of the random protection they received. 

Their benefactor had every reason to want to remain unknown, too. Yet he had no desire to make himself a self-styled avenging angel of these down-trodden people that would not have had much more chances under the late king, who had been replaced by the Tyrant thirty years ago. They were predestined to scour the bottom of society for anything that might come their way. Not one of them was innocent, not one of them worth a tynori. And yet they offered protection in turn, and no questions asked. That was why he sometimes took their side, to discourage anyone from bothering his shelter.

Former Jedi Master Alamys Jorka was huddled in his corner, his back carefully propped against the rough wall of the fountain basin, his wrists crossed over his knees. He was tired, unable to sleep for fear of being detected, and tormented by constant thirst that was impossible to quench. He knew that to be the effect of the virus, but he had managed to hold off a few other symptoms, banning the darkness into his heart, so it had only a minimal effect on his mind. He did not use the Force these days, knowing that it would be his undoing, would accelerate the virus' effects. That he could remember, even though his memory was beginning to desert him again.

There is no emotion – There is peace. There is no ignorance – There is knowledge. There is no passion – There is serenity. There is no death – There is the Force.

The words of the Jedi Code had helped him immensely, constituing an anchor for his mind that had been lost for a while on a sea of confusion and suspicion. Yet Alamys had learned to cope with the paranoia, the loss of his memory, even the fact that his bones had grown so fragile that they would shatter like glass if he was not careful. That was one of the reasons why he was constantly on the run. He did not want to risk a confrontation, with anyone. And yet, there was still nothing awaiting him in the future. There was no cure to the illness safe one, and he would rather be dead than lose what little he had left of the Force. Though he was unable to touch it, had forbidden himself to reach for it, he held that precious warmth close to his heart.

Hanging his head, Alamys Jorka heaved a deep sigh. He had settled down on Malika four years ago, to get some rest, to plan for the future. But there was none, he knew. 

The sad assembly of human waste that clogged the back-alleys of Mali City's most disreputable quarter would normally not even have registered with Darth Sidious, but there was something elusive that was familiar, somehow, like a long-forgotten scent. He stopped, tasting the air, savoring the different strands of life this miserable section of the city had to offer. There. Frowning, he squinted at one of the figures huddling in the shadows of a dried-out fountain on what had once been a grand plaza. This one was dressed in ragged brown robes, a hood drawn into its face. The hands, wrists crossed over his knees, named him human. Long, slender hands, calloused and wrinkled. The Sith Lord stepped a bit closer, then carefully touched the man's knee with his right shin. 

"You," he commanded in a low voice laced with dark power. "Show me your face."

Leaning his head back, the man looked up at him out of calm blue eyes, and Sidious recognized him instantly, despite the lines time and illness had drawn across the Jedi Master's hard features and the shaggy beard that covered the lower half of his face. The broad scar – a remainder of their last encounter – had faded into a stark white streak.

"You!" the Sith Lord hissed, tensing immediately, bracing for an attack. "I thought you were dead!"

Alamys Jorka rose elegantly, his movements careful and economic, and he managed to loom over Sidious like a king, despite his tattered appearance. The smile he wore on his lips was disconcerting, and highly suspicious. "Yes, me. I am not dead yet. But now I fear I will have to kill you."

After a moment of disbelieving surprise, Sidious barked a short laugh. "Kill me? Pathetic, Alamys, pathetic. Don't you remember the last time you tried that? You were lucky then, but not today."  


"We shall see," the Jedi Master replied hoarsely, lowering his head ever so slightly.

Sidious shrugged. He would seize the opportunity and finish Master Jorka once and for all. Hadn't his mentor taught him to always take his chances? He smiled coldly. This was his chance, and he was prepared to use it. With determination, he flung both hands out to throw a barrage of sizzling lightning at the Jedi. But the electricity vanished harmlessly, as if being sucked up by a black hole. Sidious stared, frowned, then renewed his efforts. His eyes nearly bulged when he caught a feel of the power Jorka had amassed to shield himself. It was immense!

Too late the Sith Lord remembered that dangerous side effect of the Motha Virus, that multiplied the victim's affinity to the Force by a hundredfold, or more, of his original strength. And Alamys Jorka had been fairly powerful to begin wth. With a strangled gasp, Sidious ceased the attack, standing at the edge of the plaza, undecided. Alamys Jorka seemed to be wrapped in a black cloak of shadows, that left him standing in a bluish glow of dark power. It fought to break free, but the Jedi Master held it close, the effort he had to mount to keep control plain in his eyes. Then Sidious noticed something, like a pulsing black heart that was barely visible against Jorka's body. His brows climbed almost up to his hairline. This was impossible!

Luckily his body had a different opinion and threw him sideways, before a blast of black fire melted the mosaic floor where he had been standing a moment earlier. The beggars and homeless which had been huddling against the safety of the fountain previously, scrambled in a flurry of arms and legs, as each fought the other to get away faster. Their frightened screams filled the air, and their fear brought more power to the Sith Lord. Before he could reach for it, though, it seemed to vanish, sucked into the dark vortex that surrounded the Jedi Master. Alamys Jorka held one hand out toward his adversary, palm facing outward, and a paralysing cold seemed to reach through the Sith's clothes, latching onto his skin, seeping into his body, leeching him of warmth and power.

Horrified, Sidious realized that this man was more than a match for him, that he was way out of his league. And yet, as he dodged another blast of fire, he also realized that the Jedi Master's desperate try to finally get rid of his hunter would cost him dearly in the end. Zulkur Arden had tried to combat the virus with the help of the dark side and had grown immensely strong in the Force. But in the end he had not been able to heal himself, let alone survive. He had only become more vulnerable. The same weakness would fell Alamys Jorka, and then he would have him. That was, if the Jedi Master did not kill him before that. 

Keeping the rage under control was almost rendering him unconscious, yet Alamys fought on, determined to end this chase once and for all. He was sick of always running, always hiding, and he knew for certain that Darth Sidious would not be able to withstand his power, not anymore. It called to him, tried to goad him on, and he longed for that release, longed for that blissful fire of oblivion. Still, as he had for the past years, Alamys Jorka kept a stern gaze inward, combating emotion with reason as he had for so long, to keep the illness' effects at bay. His heart was boiling with hatred and anger and fear, hatred for the Sith who had done this to him, anger at his irreversible fate and fear of ceasing to be, of losing what little was left of his life.

He lowered his hand, breaking contact to Sidious, and the Sith took a staggering step toward him. His face was covered with sweat and his blue eyes were blinking rapdily, as if he was not entirely sure what was happening. Regarding the Sith dispassionately, keeping his emotions shielded within himself, Alamys assessed his situation coldly. He could feel that the previous outlet of power on his part had already taken its toll on his system. He was shaking inside, and soon he would be too weak from the struggle to continue. And yet, there he was, right in front of him, his adversary, his tormentor. Seeing his hesitation, Sidious quirked a sly smile.

"Is it that time already?" he asked, his voice mean and low. "Will the great Jedi Master finally succumb to darkness? You swore that you never would, remember? But in the end no one can escape the Dark Side."

It would be so glorious to end the taunting, to silence the sweet lure of that dark power, to find peace again at last ... Alamys sighed deeply, then nodded. "You are right, Sidious. You cannot escape me. You know it."

Gathering his power again, feeling it rise like a black tower of writhing shadows at his back, Alamys Jorka let it flow through his body, his heart, and into his hated nemesis. The force of the blue lightning that crossed the plaza in an instant shattered the wall of one of the adjacent buildings, and it collapsed in a cloud of dust and rubble. But Sidious had managed to leap away in the last possible moment. Methodically, Alamys swept the entire plaza with lightning, not caring for the screams of the unfortunate beggars that had failed to leave this battle-field in time. The stench of charred flesh hung sweet in the air, and yet the Sith always managed to get away, jumping, back-flipping, rolling and diving with an agility Alamys never would have suspected Sidious to possess at all. 

Suddenly something flashed behind his eyes, snapping with greedy teeth, straining to break into his mind. Alamys started violently, and his attack ceased. He had almost gone too far! Gasping for air, the Jedi Master shook his head to get rid of the dizzyness that took hold of him then. Yet he was still the center of sizzling power, a fact that undoubtedly prevented the Sith Lord from attacking in turn. Instead, Sidious was watching him curiously, poised for flight. Then, with a barely perceptible shrug, he straightened, and smiled again. 

"Most impressive, Master Jorka," he told Alamys respectfully. "But I fear I will have to leave you now. Don't worry, though, I will be back." 

And then he simply turned around and walked away, while Alamys futilely tried to summon enough concentration to deliver a final, hopefully killing, blow. Nothing happened. When his legs refused to support him any longer Alamys collapsed, his knees hitting the mosaic floor hard, sending a jolt of pain through his body that woke him to reality again. He was hurting all over, his left thigh and shin had broken upon the impact, and his knee caps also felt as if they had received a fissure or something like it. He uttered a low groan, scolding himself for his stupidity. Now he knew why Sidious had been so triumphant there in the end. Alamys was on the best way of knocking himself out, of becoming easy prey for the Sith Lord to collect in due time. 

He had to get away, away from Malika, someplace where Sidious would not suspect him. With difficulty he managed to rip the fabric of his left pant leg open, then deftly used it to fashion a very primitive splint for his leg. It would not help much, he knew, but it had to be enough for now. Until he could find help. He balked at that. Who could he trust? He had not trusted anyone in the past years, always careful not to leave traces for his nemesis. And what had it brought him? To be found by accident, here of all places! Alamys barked a mirthless laugh. Things were never easy.

TBC

Hey, thanks for keeping your faith in this story. I really, really appreciate it!


	15. Plans in the making

Slipping through the growing throng of people as he walked farther into the city, Darth Sidious was doing what he could to calm himself. This encounter had been unexpected, for sure. The news that Alamys Jorka was alive was both a good and a bad one. The good was, that the Motha virus was not lost yet. The bad, of course, was that Alamys could still tell the Jedi what he knew about the surviving Sith Lord. He needed to find a way to secure the virus and destroy Alamys Jorka. Both, though, was not possible. From Darth Marr's report he knew that the virus only reproduced within living bodies, which was only logical, since it attached itself to midichlorians only. Sidious harbored no illusions that he would succeed in controlling the virus if he were injected with it. Therefore he deemed it pretty useless after all. The risk of infecting more Jedi, as his brief battle with the Jedi Master had shown, was far too high to take. Perhaps he should contract a bounty-hunter or two to get finally rid of Jorka. But no, they had failed once already. Growling softly under his breath the Sith Lord swore to have the head of the bounty-hunter who had claimed the reward set out for Alamys Jorka back on Nar Shadaa. 

But he also knew that he could not chase after Jorka all the time. His own plans for the future had to be furthered. Which was why he had come to Malika in the first place. He needed more connections, and especially conncections that would help him with logistics. But he knew that he could not simply approach his chosen victim openly. Things simply were not done that way. But here on Malika enough people knew other people that Sidious could use to gain a first foothold in the Corporate Sector. For there was where he could establish a network that would remain virtually unnoticed until it would be too late. It would cost an immense amount of will-power and threats to control as extensive a network as he was planning to establish, but he was both willing and able. Very able. The only annoyance was Alamys Jorka. Of course, when the Jedi Master had escaped from Zelos II Sidious had assumed that one of the virus' symptoms – paranoia – would prevent Jorka from relaying his tale to the Jedi Council on Coruscant. It seemed to have worked too, or else Sidious would have found himself in quite a precarious situation already four years ago. So what was it that Jorka was planning? Or was he overestimating his persistent adversary?

Perhaps the only reason why Jorka had not yet returned to Coruscant was that the virus was affecting him more than Sidious had witnessed back in the plaza. He needed to look over Darth Marr's report on Inyo Di'vitt's research again, obviously. Perhaps there he would find a clue that would finally reassure him. Perhaps. But in any case he would still send out trustworthy people to take care of the Jedi Master once and for all.

"Disturbing this speech is," Master Yoda sighed as he hobbled alongside Qui-Gon down the hallway leading toward the Council Chamber. He turned his tiny head and squinted up at the much taller human as if to check whether he would approve or disapprove of that statement. But Qui-Gon wisely kept silent, and his features blank. 

Two days ago a message had begun circulating over the Holonet and inofficial channels. A message originating from the industrial world of Raxus Prime, and issued by none other than Count Dooku himself. In said speech he had vehemently attacked the Jedi Order as corrupt and complacent, his inflammatory rethoric scorching and full of barely hidden anger and dissatisfaction. If by vanishing four years ago he had sought to distance himself from the order he had served for over seventy years, he certainly had made that step fully. It saddened Qui-Gon somewhat to see his old mentor having become so bitter, but at the same time he felt something stir within his mind, a righteous anger that pulled him toward approving of what Dooku had proclaimed. But his heart refused to listen. 

Yoda, bereft of an answer, sighed again, then continued toward the distant chamber. "Reach out he will to many dissatisfied people throughout the galaxy," he explained unnecessarily. "Applaud many will his views, and put pressure on their governments, perhaps."

"Not yet, I think," Qui-Gon whispered.

But Yoda had heard him. "What? Say you did what? Not yet? How come to that conclusion do you?"

"It will spread slowly," the human Jedi Master countered calmly, his blue eyes tranquil. "Most will put him down as a firebrand, and some will get burned. But it takes more to rouse the masses. And Count Dooku would never condone what it would need."

"So certain are you, Qui-Gon Jinn, of your master's convictions. Yet forsee his leaving you did not."

The reminder stung deeply, that was for sure. Lowering his head ever so slightly, Qui-Gon could only agree. "Yes, master. That is true. I did not forsee that." 

Yoda frowned at him, then gave a dismissive grunt. "Hmph. Tangled the future is. Unclear and unpredictable. Growing with every day the darkness is. The source of it we do not know."

"Perhaps we should cease trying to understand and act instead," Qui-Gon suggested earnestly.

"Act how, you advise?"

"I am not sure – "

"Then silent you will be," the ancient alien admonished him in a sharper tone than Qui-Gon had ever heard him use toward him before. "Concentrate you will on another task."

"Another task, Master Yoda?"

The Jedi Master gave a low huff. "Refused long enough you have to take on another student, Qui-Gon Jinn. Perhaps choose you should another, and learn anew, what mean it does to serve this order." With a last, meaningful glare up at the human Yoda made for the Council Chamber again, and Qui-Gonk knew that he had been dismissed.

A student! Hah! Whirling around he started back down the way they had come, strangely agitated. He remembered his chance encounter with Blithe Arkad on Obroa-skai, and what the historian had told him. That he should follow his heart. It took great courage to follow that directive, Qui-Gon had found, especially if one's actions were frowned upon so. The Council certainly did not approve of most of the goals he set for himself. They thought them petty, unnecessary, but by condemning his deeds they were only proving their being blind to a reality that lay beyond the centers of power like Coruscant or the Jedi Temple. Take Yoda's advice of his taking another student and learning anew. It was a hidden reminder that he, Qui-Gon, was straying from what the Council deemed the right way for the Jedi. And if the ancient Jedi had achieved anything by that comment it had been to rouse Qui-Gon's defiance once more.

A student, was it? He would find himself a student all right. One who was not obsessed with ambition and righteousness as both Dooku and Alamys Jorka had been. Someone who was humble and insightful. And Qui-Gon already had an idea where to find such one. Any initiate who was doubtful about his or her dedication to the Jedi Order was made to choose, whether to take the last step and become a Padawan learner, or to devote his or her talents to something less dangerous than serving as the galaxy's guardian. Doubt, most would say, was testimony to a lack of dedication, but to Qui-Gon it meant that whoever doubted his or her committment to the Jedi Order was a very thoughtful person, who questioned the rigid system and rules and tried to find a greater understanding of what the Force was and whether serving as a Jedi Knight would also serve the Force. Of course, some of those who refused certainly were too afraid, or too complacent, but Qui-Gon still thought that it was worth a try to search for an apprentice among the doubtful. After all, was he himself not doubting his committment? It would only be fitting to have an apprentice who shared his views.

He was too late. Dooku had left Raxus Prime already. Standing tall at one of the viewports of the major port's visitor tower, Alamys Jorka felt a searing anger as he thought of the prey that had escaped his clutches. When he had heard Dooku's speech he had not wanted to believe it yet. But then he had read it again and again, and had understood that this was exactly what he had expected to become of Dooku, deep inside his heart. 

Ever since his close encounter with Darth Sidious on Malika, two weeks ago, Alamys' mind had been on the upswing, clear and alert. He had used that fortunate turn of events to lay out a new plan of bringing Sidious down. And he was using his formidable skills as tactician to do just that. Which was why he had traveled to Raxus Prime. If he were Sidious he would remain in the background and use someone else to draw attention, to cause a diversion. And Dooku certainly fit the bill. Though Alamys had no idea what exactly Sidious was after, the events on Raxus Prime were too tempting a chance for anyone to let go. Anyone who was planning something big, something pivotal. And Darth Sidious was certainly ambitious and cunning enough to seize that chance. 

So Alamys had to find out what Dooku was planning, and, of course, what Darth Sidious was planning. The problem was, that he had no idea where either man was right now. But luckily for him Raxus Prime was almost as fertile a breeding ground for informants and dealers as Nar Shadaa. Yet Alamys did not want to draw attention himself. He had no doubt that Sidious would be looking for him again, and so he needed an information source outside of the usual lanes. Someone no one ever noticed or even considered as relevant. Scavengers. 

He had heard that a Jawa clan was runnning salvage operations on Raxus Prime, and by a rule Jawas were nosy and talkative, if one paid enough or offered a favorable trade. Unfortunately Alamys had neither credits nor anything else to offer to bargain. But he had the Force. Smiling slowly, Alamys left his perch and wandered through the extensive networks of tunnels and containers that housed the population of the industrial planet. Breathing outside these sanctuaries was deadly for most species. But Jawas were tough, he had heard, and they did not shy away from sacrifice to gain a bargain for their clan. Now, what could he offer them to be allowed to speak to one of their lead traders? 

Two weeks later Alamys found himself on Tatooine. A rented speeder had brought him to a sand-colored fortress situated in a wasteland, but then, all of Tatooine could be counted as wasteland. Grimacing wrily, the Jedi Master gave up on trying to escape the biting sand that kept crawling underneath his clothes. But the directions he had been given in Mos Eisley had led him here, and the Jawas of Raxus Prime had sent him to Tatooine in the first place. To the Bo'marr monks. These monks were a secretive sect, which believed in improving one's own mind until a state of total oneness with knowledge had been achieved. Once they had obtained that level of wisdom the monks let their brains be dissected from the rest of their bodies and put into strange, spiderlike devices that kept the brain alive for decades, perhaps centuries. At least that was what the Jawas had told him. And the Jawas traded with the Bo'marr monks for spare parts and wisdom. A curious arrangement, Alamys found. 

But he wanted something different from the sect. Having reasoned that it took quite some training to be able to achieve whatever state these monks sought, the Jedi Master had concluded that he could learn something vital from the Bo'marr monks. How to separare mind from body, reason from emotion. He knew that he would never get rid of the virus coursing through his blood-stream without his Force-sensitivity being burned out of his body, and that he could never accept. So he had wracked his poor brain for another solution. What if it were possible to seal off his destructive emotions within himself, and live on the surface of his awareness, to achieve a state where his mind simply could not be affected by the darkness slumbering within his heart. Such control would protect him from going insane eventually, and it would protect his body from deteriorating further, if he was forced to use his power after all. Perhaps he could halt the virus' destructive progress entirely. This was what he had come to Tatooine to learn, to achieve at last. And then he could devote all of his strength and attention on chasing down Sidious. 

Feeling refreshed and strengthened by that prospect, Alamys approached the fortress looming ahead, and knocked on the giant, well.armored door. A flap opened in the door above his head and a robot-eye scrutinized his features critically. 

[What do you want?] it asked in Huttese.

"Entry," Alamys replied calmly. "Open up."

[Are you a guest?]

"Not exactly." Paying no real attention to the robot-eye, Alamys peered at the portal to find a smaller gate that would allow him to enter without having to consult this thing and ask to be let inside. But, to his mild surprise, the giant door began to rise slowly, in screeching protest against the sand clogging the hydraulics working the door. 

Curious, Alamys stepped into the gloom beyond. It was a particularly harsh contrast to the glare of Tatooine's twin suns outside, but Alamys did not need to see to feel a few primitive minds approach him. Guards, he assumed. A moment later five Gammorreans came into view. Though he did not speak their language he understood that they unmistakably were telling him to follow. Shrugging, the Jedi Master did as told. He fairly knew what was expecting, or rather who, but he also felt confident that he could handle whatever would be coming his way.

The fortress had been taken over only recently by a Hutt named Jabba, and was refuge for a number of contracted bounty-hunters and mercenaries. In short, if Sidious had known that Alamys was headed here of all places he would have been rubbing his hands in glee. For a wanted man there was nowhere more dangerous, certainly. But Alamys was not any man. The Gammorreans escorted him down a flight of steps and into a low-ceilinged den of a chamber, which was filled with people of various species and sexes as well as smoke and a quite penetrant odor. Alamys reasoned correctly that it was issued by the obese alien lounging on a raised dais at the far end of the chamber. Jabba the Hutt, unmistakably.

"I do not want to cause you trouble," Alamys began without preamble as he stepped in front of Jabba, "but know that I am perfectly willing to trouble you greatly, should you dare bother me."

Belly shaking in great waves, Jabba started to laugh in slow, deep bellows. [How impertinent. This tiny human challenges the mighty Jabba?]

"No challenge. Just a friendly warning. I have no business here with you."

[But perhaps we do have business with you, Jedi.]

Alamys' face fell in mock disappointment. "Oh," he said. "You know already." 

Though he could sense that the tension within the chamber was rising steadily he found it quite reassuring that none of the assembled bounty-hunters had moved so far. Obviously Jabba was keeping a strict court here. They would not act without Jabba's explicit permission. So he needed to persuade the Hutt to leave him be and continue into the lower sections of the fortress to find the Bo'marr monks. Extending his mind, he sought Jabba's presence, seeking to seize part of the giant alien's subconsciousness and twist it to his will. Strictly speaking it was against the Jedi Code to use such a technique, but in this case the line would be blurred only slightly. Besides, it was vital that Alamys did not start a fight here. 

Voice dropping to an almost whisper, the Jedi Master spoke in a tone laced with power. "You will tell your cronies to leave me alone. And you will not bother me further."

For a moment there was silence, then Jabba broke into hearty laughter again. [Do not overstimate your chances, Jedi], he boomed. 

But he did not get any further. Seizing one of the Gammorreans standing behind him, Alamys flung the pig-like creature against the dais' front, and his eyes were burning with anger. "You will not bother me further," he declared, louder this time, and with much more force behind that order. He saw Jabba flinch ever so slighty, apparently he had realized that this was no ordinary Jedi. And a few of the people mingling in the chamber also seemed to have been affected by the blast of power that Alamys had used to push his request through. And yet, the Hutt himself seemed unaffected. But he had understood the gist well enough, and reacted instantly. Jabba's child-like hand dropped down heavily on a large button set into the dais next to him, and then the floor underneath Alamys's feet dropped away, plunging him into the unknown below. 

It was not a deep fall, and he landed in a crouch, his face fixed in concentration as he waited for the inevitable snap of bones following the impact. It did not come. He had been lucky this time. Breathing a sigh of relief Alamys straightened into the large cave underneath the throne room and looked around. He could pick up strange sounds growing louder, and from the shadows small, glowing red eyes were watching him cautiously. It sounded for all the world like a pack of rodents down here, but Alamys did not assume that these were your average rodents. Glancing up, he found Jabba and his courtiers watching him through the thick iron-wrought gate that served as trap-door simultaneously. 

"What is this supposed to be?" Alamys shouted, but started, when something brushed the back of his thighs. Whirling around, the Jedi Master found himself facing the largest rat he had ever seen. The animal was about two meters long, including the tail, and came up to the human's knees. Its yellowish teeth looked particularly ugly in combination with its intelligent and decidedly malicious gaze. "A rat-trap," he breathed, feeling amused. "How original. And so fitting for this court," he added in a loud voice, meant to reach the audience above. Now, what to do? Taking a step back he studied the rat's reaction closely. It did not follow, but its wiry whiskers began trembling faster. 

The Jedi Master checked on the rest of the pack and found them hanging back, leaving first contact to their leader. Alamys smiled. "I hate rats!" he announced, smiling. There was a row of nasty laughter from above. "My oh my," he continued under his breath. "What _am_ I going to do?" Retreating further, Alamys carefully extended his senses to be able to pinpoint the position of the other rats. There were seventeen in total, and though certainly hungry, they were also cautious. Suddenly one of the animals gathered at his back darted forward and snapped at him. Immediately the larger one confronting Alamys charged at the younger rat and bit hard into its shoulder. The terrified squeak uttered by the youngster drew raucuous laughter from the audience, but Alamys knew that it was him that they wanted to see bleed and scream. 

"Rats," Alamys muttered, eyes narrowing as he gazed at the wounded pack-member. Assuming that these creatures originated from Tatooine they should be used to eating their own kind if game became too scarce on this desert world. Usually rats were social creatures, but the fact that they had chosen a leader, or had been forced to follow, plus the punishment of an all too curious youngster, seemed to signify a certain hierarchy. Extending his mind again, Alamys pinched the young one's back and watched it yelp in indignation and surprise, snapping at an unseen attacker. Continuing this assault, the Jedi Master noticed that the rest of the pack became more and more interested in what the youngster was doing. Then, gently projecting an image into the animal's mind, he prompted the tormented rat to launch itself at him with a vengeful squeal. The reaction was prompt, and as the pack converged on the unfortunate youngster, Alamys retreated. 

There was a gate set into the wall, with the control pad just out of reach. But not out of reach for him. Though he knew he should not be using the Force so much, he saw no other way to get out of this time-stealing trap. From behind him the rat pack was working up to a frenzy and they were fighting with each other loudly. From the audience chamber above jeering voices made the crowd's disappointment public, and Jabba's booming voice protested this course of events. Not that Alamys cared. Opening the gate he wandered out of the cave and into a labyrinth of hallways that had been hewed into the stone quite some time ago. The clatter of boots alarmed him to the fact that guards were headed his way. The first one to round the narrow corner was unceremoniously thrown into the melee of rats and the second found a Jedi Master latching onto his power-spike. With a long-practised twist Alamys wrestled the weapon from the Weequay's grasp and clobbered the alien over the head with it. Then, turning around, he fled deeper into the labyrinth.

"Good news, Councillor?" Shya Kee asked lightly as her master entered his sprawling office, but she never raised her eyes from the screen of her datapad. 

For a moment Darth Sidious stood in the doorway, just looking at her. Then, a smile flashing across his face, he walked over to join her. "Yes, good news indeed. That Bothan merchant has finally agreed to ascend to the higher price for the marble. It will boost the national income somewhat, but not by much. I believe I'll have to think of another way to get us a positive trade deficit."

Shya looked up from her work, purple eyes beaming merrily. "I may have something for you."

"And what would that be?"

"The Trade Federation is calling an investors' convention on Almania."

  
"Almania!" he exclaimed, then frowned. "That's too far away for me to attend personally." But it was his best chance so far to contact the Trade Federation directly. Back on Malika he had first extended searching tendrils that had turned up some interesting prospective allies for his future plans, but the Trade Federation in particular had proven to be extremely elusive. 

"You should not let that chance pass," Shya told him softly.

"I won't, but I still cannot see to this in person. The King will require my input into the future of our trade investments, and there is also that other project I need to see to." 

His secretary nodded in understanding. She was a loyal agent, who knew exactly what her master was, and what goals he had. Though Sidious was careful not to reveal too much of his plans to even her, she eased the burden of coordinating his different projects immensely, apart from managing day to day office work for the councillor. 

"And still no news on that Jedi Master?" she added quietly. 

"No," Sidious snorted. Two years had passed since that close encounter on Malika, and Alamys Jorka simply had vanished from the face of this galaxy. Oh, he was around, no doubt about that, but where? Still, _that_ Jedi Master Shya was not referring to. "But I have a feeling that you might meet him on Almania," he continued. 

Shya's head came up abruptly. "Master, you are sending _me_?"

"Why not? You are my personal assistant, know what is required, and everyone will understand that I cannot attend personally." Dropping into one of the finely carved chairs dotted throughout the office he nodded as if to reassure himself. "Yes, I believe that is a possible move. And Count Dooku will also recognize a good bargain when it does present itself. The Trade Federation _is_ such a bargain."

He had been quite impressed with the speech delivered by the former Jedi Master and cunning business man, not only because it echoed his own sentiments concerning the Jedi, but also because Dooku was proud and confident enough to challenge the Republic directly. So far no one was taking him seriously, but Sidious had been keeping and eye on the count's activities, and he could safely claim that Dooku was not giving up yet. But he needed allies to achieve his goal, and such allies could be found only in the fringe or the Corporate Sector. 

It was their likemindedness that had prompted Sidious to monitor Dooku in the first place, and over the past the Sith Lord had found that the former Jedi was actually a much more enigmatic and engaging speaker than he himself would ever be. The perfect figure-head for his own operations. If only he could make contact and convince Dooku to join his cause! And Sidious had much to offer a man who was seeking to change the galaxy. Shya would travel to Almania and meet with both the Trade Federation representatives and Count Dooku, if he really did attend the meeting. But she would only make first contact. Everything else unfortunately would have to wait, until a few other things had fallen into place. Meanwhile he, Sidious, would work on his Naboo Project, Almanda Dar, aspiring hopeful to become Theed's next administrator and perhaps even queen one day. She was the one who would unlock a few doors for him, and be glad to do it.

It had always been clear to Sidious that he needed to hide his own ambitions behind a mask of humility and helpful naivité. He had to arrange it so that none of his competitors thought him a real threat but at the same time machinate himself into ever greater positions of power. So far he had managed to enter into the inner circle of advisors for the reigning King of Naboo, but he wanted more. Not to become king himself, Force beware! _That_ was not an ambition of his. No, what he wanted was to become elected representative of the Naboo in the Galactic Senate on Coruscant. Coruscant, the center of power and corruption. It was an old rule in warfare to further the enemy's corruption to bring him down, and he would certainly work on extending corruption within the Republic's power structures. But to be able to do that he needed to have valuable favors to offer. Since trade was the primary source of wealth and power it was trade that he needed to infiltrate, beginning with the Trade Federation. So complex, that plan, and yet simple enough to succeed.

Alamys Jorka had had a hard time learning. But he was focused and he was determined. He had wanted to learn, and so he had. It had been hard enough for him to accept that none of the original monks had survived, and that neither of the spider-like robots that carried around the dissected brains of long gone monks had even acknowledged him at first. The problem with having reached a state of absolute being, of having totally forgone physical needs for achieving an absolutely pure oneness with knowledge, was that one was rather disinclined to leave that state again. But who else was there to teach Alamys Jorka?

Luckily, the Jedi Master was an extremely patient man. He had been polite and inventive in acquiring knowledge from the self-possessed monk-brains, and over two years he had snatched up bits and pieces, goaded them from those dissected brains with enticements and – sometimes fake – curiosity. As long as he was learning, he could be patient. As long as they continued to give bits of their knowledge he could remain calm. Perhaps, he mused one evening as he sat on the roof of Jabba's fortress citadel, watching the stars, they had realized that if they denied him answers to his questions he would do more than just break the legs of the spider-robots that carried them all around the compound. He would do much more, something much more unpleasant and intimate. That cold thought, reflected underneath the cold stars of Tatooine, came to him at the end of his studies.

And it told him a lot of what he had become. 

For too long he had fought to remain fair, to follow the Jedi Code, but gradually he had come to understand that it was an individual choice what rules to follow. As a Jedi Master he knew enough of morals and ethics to realize what was evil, and what right. Right from his own point of view, Justifiable by himself alone. Alone. It _was_ a great burden, he had to admit to himself that starlit night on Tatooine, but it still needed to be carried. He had made his choice, and he knew that he had only one goal: to bring down the Sith once and for all. He would bribe, he would kill, he would do anything he could short of starting a wholesale war to prevent Sidious from executing whatever plan he might harbour. And that was the very first step. To find out what exactly the Sith Lord was planning. 

That night Alamys Jorka walked purposefully down into the Hutt's almost deserted throne room, where only a very few courtiers had remained, talking in low voices, while their host had already retired for the night. Heads were raised at the Jedi Master's entry, and all of the people present in that room reconized him. Over those past two years Alamys had made a name for himself, or rather, a reputation. They knew him. And they knew enough not to try and cross him. Thumbs hooked behind his belt, Alamys stood gazing at the four people sitting or standing in the darkness of the deserted throne room, not even noticing their slightly nervous glances. All he was thinking of was how he could make the most of those present here tonight. Walking slowly, he stepped into the room, his worn boots echoing faintly throughout the gloomy silence. Four pairs of eyes were watching him. 

Then he said: "I need a ride."

There was no answer. He did not notice. 

"Not far away," he continued, "just somewhere I can catch a ride to the more populated worlds."

Still no answer. He did not expect one. But his path was cutting straight toward the Bothan who had been hiding in the shadows at the far end of the throne room. 

"In fact," Alamys Jorka said, "I believe I will accompany you when you leave for Ylesia tomorrow."

The Bothan stood staring at him, his chocolate-colored fur rippling anxiously, his face fixed into a grimace of fear and aggression. The Jedi Master hardly noticed. His blue eyes, so very cold, showed no emotion at all. No feelings. Those were all bottled up very tightly, behind shields that could only be broken by himself. _That_ he had learned here. If no more. But it was enough for him. He even tried a smile to convince the Bothan, who in truth did not need convincing at all. No one did, not after one good look at those icy eyes.

And so Alamys Jorka next found himself departing a Bothan's ship to set foot on the planet Ylesia for the very first and last time in his life. 

The first time she had seen him she had been awestruck. Despite his tattered appearance, the unkempt beard and unruly hair that hung down to his shoulders, he had the bearing of a prince, the confidence of a pirate, and he captured her soft heart as easily as any of the beggars she sometimes conversed with, and more often even donated her own savings to. Shmi Skywalker could not deny it. She was in love with him, for some reason she could not quite grasp herself. But the moment their eyes met, his thoughtfuly blue eyes, seeming slightly distracted, so earnest set into that serious face, she knew that the gods themselves had destined them to be together. 

And so she took him home with her, sneaking into her master's house like a thief, but she felt no guilt at all. Only a strange excitement. He was shy at first, perhaps a bit overwhelmed by her offer, but then a grateful look spread across his face and he accepted her invitation wordlessly, a smile on his face that was suffused with hope and a longing that made her heart tighten in empathy. 

Two hours later, watching him, she smiled with sudden fondness. He was nodding off, his features relaxing, softening his face somewhat. He was, Shmi found, a quite handsome man, except for the disfiguring scar slashed down the left side of his face. In the comforting warmth of the bath-house his eyes lost their sharp edge as he gradually fell asleep right there in the bathtub. With a splash his head hit the water surface and he jerked awake, the surprise on his face making Shmi laugh girlishly. She never noticed the dangerous flash crossing his face then, she only saw his sweet, embarrassed smile

"I must have dozed off," he said, his voice slurred with fatigue. 

Shmi grinned at him. "I noticed."

"Yes." He sat up, looking straight at her, and his expression melted something inside her. Blushing, she averted her eyes. But he continued unpertubed: "Thank you. This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in – oh – I can't even remember." His hand, dripping wet, squeezed her arm gently. "Thank you," he breathed. 

Shmi drew away as politely as she could and rose from her crouch. "You can stay overnight in my quarters." When she saw the doubt in his eyes she hurried to add: "If you don't mind."

Again he hesitated. "I – I don't think I mind. Could you hand me a towel, perhaps?"

"Yes, of course," Shmi replied and handed him the soft cloth. She resumed her place on the single bench of the wash-house, watching him dry off unashamed. His body, she found, was fairly covered with scars, and she winced every time she found a new one. "My stars, you've been hurt so much," she breathed. 

His head came up and his blue eyes seemed troubled. "It is nothing," he told her, but she was unconvinced. How could such suffering be dismissed as nothing? He must have noticed her expression, since she found him kneeling in front of her next, his face earnest. "Your generosity is more than I deserve, Shmi Skywalker." He shrugged helplessly. "And yet I find that it is all I have hoped for for the last two years." He smiled, a beautiful smile to her, a very cold one to anyone else who might have been watching. A calculated smile. But Shmi did not see that. 

"Is Tatooine all that bad?" she asked shyly. He had said he had come from Tatooine, and he looked the part too, with his skin a dark tanned brown. She did not see the hollowness in his cheeks, though. Perhaps, love really did make one blind. And perhaps something else was preventing her from thinking clearly that night. 

"Not so bad," he whispered, and smiled again. "But I like it better here."

She blushed at that, feeling curiously foolish for acting that way, at her age, but he made her feel ten years younger somehow. Despite her sudden reservations she ran her hand along his jaw, clean-shaven now. Without the beard his features were noble, calm, and even more beauiful. What she failed to see was the grim set of his jaw, the determination lurking in the back of his eyes. But she could see nothing dangerous in him, only something to worship, someone to love. Bending forward, she put her lips close to his ear and whispered another invitation, much more intimate than some food and shelter for the night. And somehow she found it not in the least surspising that he accepted without any hesitation at all. 

TBC


	16. Storytelling

The moment he had first seen her in the street he had known that she was the reason for his being on Yesia. An unassuming woman, a slave, as he would learn later, gentle, compassionate and selfless. There was not a trace of evil in her heart, only generosity. And a desire to be loved, to give love and to share love. She seemed lonely in a way that only the heart can be lonely, and Alamys, the reader of emotions, saw that she, too, was searching for something, just as he was. And yet it was no happenstance that they found one another. Once he had made his choice, Alamys had taken control of their encounter, gently probing her mind for weaknesses, to find out which way he could play her. No one would suspect that this woman would be the major instrument in his own plans, his secret weapon. Ylesia was too far away, the woman herself too plain and inconspicuous, a slave, barely noticed. 

And when she told him her name Alamys knew that it was indeed the Force that had led him here.

Her invitation, then, was no surprise, both due to fate and his own manipulation of her mind. When she withdrew from him again, her warm breath still lingering on his neck, he was smiling. Wordlessly he followed her to her own room, a tiny cubby-hole in the grand villa's wing reserved for servants and slaves. There was not much to be seen here, and he dismissed everything except for the woman who would be his saviour. Back on Tatooine he had come to a greater understanding of his own fate as well as that of the Jedi. He had realized that he would never get rid of the virus, that all he could do was to control it. But for how long? He could not take the risk of losing his mind before his life's work was done. Therefore, if the Force could be infected by darkness, he had reasoned, he needed to create a weapon that could not be infected. A remedy, or antidote. 

For many hours Alamys had pondered the prophecy he had revealed to Darth Sidious, and in the end he had accepted the fact that he himself would be part of that prophecy. Had to be. Now, here on Ylesia, the last doubts had been burned away by this woman, and Alamys knew better than to stand in destiny's way. Shmi, her eyes bright with joy and excitement, was totally unabashed, burning with a longing that he found echoed somwhere deep inside. It frightened him, just a bit, but he had never been one to let fear rule him for long. And yet he had to swallow hard when she sat down on her narrow bed, the only place where one _could_ sit in this room. Still feeling somewhat uncertain, he brushed his hand along Shmi's face, making her smile shyly at his touch. No, definitely no ordinary beauty. 

And now? He closed his eyes briefly, trying to gain some strength for what he needed to do. His left arm slipped around her shoulders, drawing her closer. He could feel her body tense, but he continued stroking her back gently, soothingly. There was nothing he needed to fear here. There was no one threatening him. And even though he was telling himself just that over and over again he had a hard time relaxing. Then, as if sensing his dilemma, Shmi snuggled up to him, her head cuddled against his chest. Eyes snapping open again, Alamys gazed down at her, saw her impish smile. 

"Will you tell me a good-night story?" she asked, her smile broadening. And then, despite 

himself, Alamys started to laugh.

"A good-night story?" he asked, once his mirth had subsided. Shmi was still looking up at him, seemingly taking no offense at his reaction.

"Yes, of course," she replied sturdily. "Or do you think I am grown out of this? Are you?"

He shook his head, suddenly thoughtful. "No. Not at all. And yes, I will tell you a story."  


Alamys remembered sitting with his oldest sister, Amerie, himself barely three years old, a few weeks before she was going to get married. Night had fallen over their farm, and Alamar, the blue sun of Tyreena, had chased yellow Alvey from the sky, plunging eveything in a pale glow of winter nights. Amerie, beautiful long blonde curls falling almost down to her waist, had reached down to lift her youngest brother up and place him on her lap. "You know that you were named for that sun, don't you?" she had asked him. And Alamys had nodded slowly, trying to understand why she would doubt his knowledge. And then she had told him the story of Alamar and Alvey, a folk-tale as old as the first colonies of Tyreena. It was that tale that he told Shmi Skywalker on that special night on faraway Ylesia, and it went as follows.

__

Alamar the Golden stood tall upon a hillside, surveying the armies below as they tore into each other on that bloody battle-field, each seeking to destroy the other. It was not their first encounter, but it would be their last, the god upon the hillside knew. He had not been looking forward to that day, since he despised those mortals' desire to kill and maim one another. And still they prayed to him, asked for his grace, his protection, and he found himself compelled to care for them after all. But the Great King of Tyra had announced that the Golden God of his people had decreed a holy war to be waged on the savages of the plains.

Little did the Great King know that the savage tribes of the Inner Plains worshiped Alamar the Golden with greatest piety, that was equal to the faith of Tyra's believers. For Alamar the Golden was a generous god, who did not wish to deny a source of faith to anyone requesting it. He recognized that faith was what these mortals thrived on, and since he himself was immortal and everlasting, he could easily take the weight of that faith, and grant his glory to anyone who wanted to believe. But he was saddened by the Great King's decree, and so he decided to warn the savage tribes of the plains. It was on a winter night that he appeared to Alvey the Fierce, the leader of those tribes of the plains. 

The god appeared to him mysteriously, a voice that was heard in his mind, an image that could not be grasped by his poor, mortal eyes. But Alvey the Fierce was not an easily frightened man, and his belief gave him strength. Lowering himself to his knees he bowed his head in recognition of Alamar the Golden, the Generous.

"What is thy wish, great god of mine?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper, so awed was he by the Great One's presence.

"No wish, dear child, a warning." And so the god told Alvey the Fierce that the Great King of Tyra had proclaimed a holy war to be waged against his people. 

"In spring, then," Alvey the Fierce said firmly. "We will be prepared." But despite his determination, he still forced himself to raise his head and look at his god. "But why would you allow this to come about, Great One?" he asked timidly, feeling a little bit betrayed after all.

And Alamar the Golden, the Generous, spoke: "Judge I am not of your belief, my child. Understand you must that I am the well of faith, that can give and take only what those who believe in me are willing to give and take."

"But the Great King of Tyra believes he must slay us to give you more, so he can take more in return!" Alvey protested then. "This is injust!"

The god nodded sagely, and sadly. "It is so, my child. But I am not your judge, and I am not a saviour. But I will protect you still, if you can still trust your faith in me."

  
Alvey the Fierce let out a breath of relief and said: "That is all I ask, Great One. Your generosity is, as always, boundless." And so he kept believing, trusting his faith into the Great One's caring hands. 

Spring came, and Tyra's grand armies marched across the land on their holy crusade. Alvey the Fierce had prepared his warriors thoroughly, and they stood ready to face the oncoming troops in their shining armour. They all gathered that first day of battle to pray to the god, to assure him of their faith, and they truly did believe, and trust. But when they met the enemy Alvey the Fierce at once saw that the Great King of Tyra had split his forces. Sensing the worst, Alvey sent scouts to the villages of his people. None of the scouts returned before the battle began, though. 

It was a fierce battle, and there was no winner that day. Both armies were evenly matched, and so both retreated, to rest and ponder new ways to destroy the enemy. Again Alvey sent a scout to bring news from their villages. He sent his most trusted man, his best friend, and waited anxiously for news. Three more days of battle passed, before the scout's two-legged woundhi came into camp, carrying a gravely wounded rider. "No survivors," the warrior breathed as he slid to the ground, his body covered in blood. Alvey the Fierce sank down with him, his face very pale. "What did you say?" he asked, disbelieving, but there was no answer as his best friend died in his arms.

It was then that Alvey the Fierce turned his face toward the heavens, where Alamar the Golden stood high and tall and strong. If the great god was no judge and no saviour, then what was there to have faith in? When innocents were slain in the name of that god, why should they continue believing? Alvey the Fierce remembered what the god had told him and smiled down grimly at his dead friend's slack features. What blood was taken from the well of faith would be returned. He would destroy the Great King's armies, and regain the belief that had deserted him in that weak moment of despair. Alvey the Fierce was true to his word, and the grand army of Tyra was being diminished as the war continued. 

But now, as Alamar the Golden stood upon a hillside watching the last day of battle of a holy war, he was sadder than ever before, and though he still cared, though he understood Alvey's grief, he could feel the warlord's faith faltering. He did not trust his god anymore, and neither did his troops. And as they continued to slay the grand army of Tyra, Alamar the Golden, the Generous, settled down on the hillside, tired beyond words, and felt faith slip away from him. 

Down on the battle-field Alvey the Fierce had lost his own woundhi, and had planted his feet firmly on blood-soaked ground, standing tall amidst dying and dead soldiers, both from Tyra and his own folk. His face was grim, and his eyes bitter. Broad-bladed sword held in both hands he waited for his enemies to charge him, only then he would slash left or right, or up or down and kill them. They were frightened of him and most did not want to meet his deadly sword. But they had no choice. The Great King of Tyra himself rode his grand steed across the battle-field, shouting orders and shouting prayers to the Golden God. But he was shouting in vain. Smiling coldly, Alvey the Fierce saw Alamar the Golden stumble on his hillside and sink to the soft ground below his feet. And then Alvey charged. 

When his sword sank into the Great King's chest the world, for the first time, went dark.

At first Alvey thought he had gone blind, but then he found that he could still see armour glinting on the battle-field in a strange blue light, that indistinct shapes staggered around him, moaning loudly. Bewildered, Alvey the Fierce looked around, and up at the sky. The Great One was gone. Only then did he realize that in his folly he had murdered his god, that he had slain Alamar the Golden, the Generous, and condemned his people to live in darkness eternal. So great was his grief, that he screamed and railed at the dark sky, crying the god's name, begging for forgiveness. But the darkness remained. 

Once he was calm again, Alvey the Fierce gathered his remaining warriors around him on that dark battle-field and spoke: "I am Alvey the Fierce, Slayer of the Great King of Tyra, Slayer of Alamar the Golden, the Generous." There were astonished, frightened gasps all around, but he continued unpertubed. "Our women and children, our old and crippled are gone, slaughtered by the grand army of Tyra. We have avenged them, here, today, and I ask you, my good men, to go to Tyra and tell of today's battle there. Tell them that Alvey the Fierce has slain their god, who was his own."

"Alvey," one of the warriors called out, "what will you_ do?"_

And Alvey the Fierce lowered his head and lay down his sword. "I must bring back the light that I have extinguished," he said, his voice grave and very sad. "I cannot live on without that light to guide me, to guide you. I know now that we all need that light to soothe our fears, to receive our dreams, and wishes and prayers. Yes," he called out, and looked straight at them in the dark, imagining their faces in the shadows. "I, Alvey the Fierce, swear to bring back the light, even if it takes forever to find it. This I swear, here, today!"

And so Alvey the Fierce walked away from that battle-field, filled with determination and faith in his god. He was never to be seen again. But the next year – after long months of cold and hunger – the people of Tyra saw a new sun rise from the horizon, illuminating the sky and driving the blue darkness away as it traveled across the firmament. They cheered and waved and cried, believing that Alamar the Golden had returned to them. But the yellow sun wandered on and vanished again beyond the horizon, prompting the poor people of Tyra to gnash their teeth in fear and grief. "Look!" one of them shouted suddenly, and pointed at the sky. And there, in the aftermath of the yellow sun's glare, they could see a blue sun stand above them, as unfaltering as Alamar the Golden, the Generous, ever had been. And they understood that, in truth, the Great One had never left them. 

The yellow sun, which on its steady arc reminded them of just that fact every day, they named Alvey, the Skywalker, after Alvey the Fierce, who had wandered far from the world and to the stars to bring back their light. 

"And that is the end of the story," Alamys whispered softly. He was gazing down at Shmi's fascinated eyes, that were wide and bright with excitement, and smiled. 

"Skywalker," she said. "Just like me!"

"Yes," he answered, and kissed her brow. "Exactly like you." 

He kissed her again, her soft lips, this time, and continued to cover her in kisses, until much later he was too far away to even think of kisses. All of his love, all of his hope, all of his bliss he gathered tightly, wrapped in the gift the Force had granted him, a gift that he had determined Shmi Skywalker to continue to carry for him, safe in her womb, the son of the suns, that he knew their child would be. A wonderful child, a saviour one day. 

But before that day came, he, Alamys Jorka, had something to settle with a very special Sith Lord.

__

When she woke the next morning something was very wrong. Her head hurt like mad, and Shmi almost fainted when she rose from her bed to wash and dress. For some reason she looked down on the tangled sheeds again, but could not say what she had expected to see there. Bewildered, she started a second attempt at rising and managed this time. In the bath-house, deserted that early in the day, she washed and dressed, then started when she saw a strands of slightly curly blonde hair lying on the floor. With a fond and sudden smile she remembered the beggar she had taken in from the street yesterday. He had been from Tatooine, hadn't he? Taking brush and shovel, she knelt down to sweep the floor of the evidence of what her mistress referred to as her unfortunate generous nature. Laughing at the image of the elderly woman saying just that, Shmi finished her task and put brush and shovel back into their accustomed corner. 

She could not remember having seen the beggar off last night, but she found a few used plates in the kitchen sink, and hurried to wash and dry them before the cook came in. The other servants always made fun of her 'hobby', and her master openly disapproved. He had once accused her of having immoral conduct with the poor souls she invited in for nothing more than a meal or a bath. She would never ever _dream_ of anything else! Again, she thought of the beggar from Tatooine. He had been blond, with beautiful blue eyes, she thought. Then she started violently, remembering the hideous scar that had marked his face. What had been his name again, though? Alus? Alays? She could not recall. Shaking her head, she dismissed that thought and concentrated on her tasks for the day. It did not matter, after all. He had been cute though, she mused fondly. And laughed some more, but softly, so no one would hear her.

When Shya Kee arrived from the meeting on Almania she seemed to radiate satisfaction and pride, and Sidious granted her that joy for now. She had performed perfectly, by the sound of it. Not only had she made an irresistible offer to the Trade Federation in Darth Sidious' name, she had also made contact to Count Dooku. The man was apparently ready to meet him in person. Congratulating his secretary on her exploits, Sidious let her retreat to her own rooms once she had made her report, to rest and celebrate, whatever she saw fit. And he did not need her close by when he laid out the next few steps of his plan. Unfortunately another visitor presented herself at the door to his office, and this was someone he could hardly turn away.

"Cos! I should have known that you would forget about the presentation again!" she called out, sounding indignant and angry.

Turning toward her with a smile, Sidious shrugged apologetically. "I am deeply sorry, my love. But Shya just came back from her trip, and - "

"Spare me your excuses," Almanda Dar cut him off, emphasizing her words with a wave of her slender arm. She swept into his office uninvited, then closed the door behind her. "You know that this presentation is important. The king himself will attend, and I want you with me."

She was a true beauty, with dark blond hair, cut fashionably short in the current style from Coruscant, and pale green eyes that were a rarety on Naboo. Almost as tall as Sidious himself, she was also somewhat exceptional for Nubian womanhood in that regard. But then, her father had been an off-worlder from Kuat, as far as Sidious knew. Almanda had inherited her mother's gift for politics, and her father's ambition. In that, the Sith Master mused, she was not all that different from the typical Nubian politician. Bringing up his hands in a soothing and somewhat defensive gesture, he slowed her advance. 

"Please, dear, I will finish here and accompany you, of course. Forgive my forgetfulness, please."

"Of course I will," she snorted. "We do not have time for more elaborate apologies." A sudden smile flashed across her pale face. "Though I much regret it." For her presentation she had chosen a severely beautiful dress in dark blue, with a collar that went up to right under her chin. Her smile deepened, when she noticed that he had chosen an attire of much the same color. "It suits you," she said breezily as she took his arm. "Come. Let us go. We don't want to be too late."

"No, of course not," Sidiosu replied placidly, but inwardly he was hoping hard that his arrangement for this afternoon would work out. It would not do for him to be seen in her company so intimately and often at all. As it was, they had crossed half-way to the library, where the presentation was to take place, walking side by side, when a clerk came running to intercept them. 

"Councillor Palpatine!" the man called out, gulping for breath as he caught some air. "A call for you. From Coruscant."

Sidious threw Alamanda a questioning and apologetic frown, before he turned back to the messenger. "Is it truly that important? I am somewhat busy –"

"Sir, the caller says it is _very_ urgent."

"I see." Schooling his features into a cool mask he nodded at Almanda as one administrator to the other. "I will catch up on the presentation later on, then."

"Of course," she pressed out. He could sense her outrage easily, and it almost made him smile. "Until later, then, Councillor," she concluded, then whirled away to proceed to the library.

It had not even been a lie. If he was not mistaken, this call was very important indeed. Once back in his own chambers he checked the code displayed on the comm unit and gave a grim nod. He did not even bother to disguise himself when he accepted the call at last. The face appearing then was solemn, a male Chagrian he knew very well. The blue-skinned alien nodded gravely. 

"My lord, I have good news for you."

Sidious could not suppress a tiny smile. "Is that so? So far all the news you've brought me has been good," he quibbed. 

The Chagrian gave a pleased nod. "That is so, my lord. I have made inquiries and can safely claim that what you requested will be no problem at all. No with what back-up you claim to have."

"Excellent," Sidious breathed. "It will happen soon, I assure you. I have already prepared everything for the upcoming elections. Almanda Dar will become the next administrator of Theed, and she will support my nomination to the Senate fully, I assure you."

"How could I ever doubt your words, my lord?" the Chagrian replied.

"How indeed, Mas Amedda, old friend." And then, once Almanda had the seat as head administrator of the Nubian capital, her ambitions would only begin to be satisfied. She would undoubtedly challenge King Veruna once the time was right. And that time would be coming soon enough. "Thank you again for the good news," the Sith Master told the Chagrian pleasantly. "I will not trespass on your time any longer."

  
"It is always a pleasure to be of assistance, my lord."

Sidious did not reply, but disconnected the call with a last, approving nod. So, his way to Coruscant had been cleared, and his patience was being rewarded. Now it was time to move his other pawns a little bit further. The Trade Federation, and Dooku, of course. Patience was a virtue, one of the very few he possessed. The thought amused him no end, and he was still smiling when he made his way to the library, to dutifully attend a certain presentation given by the next administrator of Theed. The next queen, with luck. But that was to be decided later. For now, one victory was quite enough. 

TBC


	17. A Glimpse at The Future

****

"Boss, you can stop now, he's dead," Byrol said somewhat resignedly from where he was leaning against the wall of the small hide-out they had selected for this interrogation. 

It was nice and quiet here, and what was more, no one would suspect what was going on in these deep caves of Nar Shadaa. 

"I can see that, Byrol," Alamys Jorka replied just as resignedly and nodded at the Devaronian, signalling for him to dispose of the body. Byrol shrugged, then went forward just as Alamys retreated to leave him more room to operate in the tiny cave.

Deactivating his lightsaber, the former Jedi Master refastened the handle on his belt, then self-consciously tugged his coat over it, so it was not visible at first glance. One could never be too cautious. The body belonged to Indan Fathura, a late spy for none other than Darth Sidious. Tracking the Sith Lord's network was easier than he had anticpated, especially here, where loyalties were being bought and sold cheaply. And Sidious had not been using this particular agent for some time. It was safe to assume that he would not call upon his services in the near future either, so he would not be missed. But what Indan had told Alamys certainly made for a very entertaining tale. Not all of it had been true, of course, but Alamys' experience and his well-honed ability to read emotions allowed him to spot a lie without employing too much of his emotional strength. He had to be careful, after all. 

Over the past months Alamys had found one particularly disheartening truth: the only one who could tell him something about Sidious' real plans was the Sith Lord himself. There had been some minor victories along the way, surely, and Alamys was almost ready to make his first move against Darth Sidious. That was the entire reason for employing someone like Byrol in the first place. The Devaronian was a thug, just like most denizens of Nar Shadaa, but he was loyal in his own way, and amazingly indifferent to his master's imperfections, such as his somewhat messy interrogation methods. Alamys had not truly meant to kill Indan Fathura, it had just happened. Of course he knew why that was so. The Motha Virus was still acting up on his system, and now he had to be doubly careful in keeping a level head. But the discomfort was worth it. 

A grim smile appeared on his face and was gone. A year had passed since he had implemented his back-up plan, which was supposed to take up the fight if he should fail after all. Unfortunately, the risk of failure was extraordinarily high here. His 'back-up plan' had required him to give up what he had held precious for a long, long time. It had been necessary, Alamys knew, understanding at last, that his command over the Force was not what defined him as what he was. In this battle he had to use everything and everyone he could, including himself. And Alamys knew that he was a foe to be reckoned with even without the aid of the Force. His skills as a swordsmaster had not vanished, and neither had his experience as diplomat and tactician failed him. He was perfectly capable of doing what had to be done without calling upon the Force. It was only a matter of planning.

He looked up when Byrol returned from his task. The Devaronian gave him a dispassionate glance. "What're we gonna do now, boss?"

"Get on with it," Alamys told the alien grimly. "I want you to go into the Corporate Sector and set up camp there - "

"Sure thing."

" - and I want you to assess the various mercenary and pirate groups you can find on the way."  


Byrol's jaw dropped. "Boss?"

"I need a fleet, and I need hired arms," the Jedi Master explained coolly. "What's so surprising about that?"

"It costs," Byrol retorted sourly. "And I wonder where you#re going to take the money from."

This time Alamys really did smile. "Byrol, we are talking about mercenaries, pirates. The promise of profit will certainly convince them."

"Only if the risk isn't too high," the Devaronian cautioned him. "They'll want upfront cash."

"Will they?" Alamys' features went blank. "Then I shall get you some credits and you shall get me that fleet."

The Devaronian heaved a sigh. "Sure, boss. Whatever you want."

  
Alamys Jorka gave a curt nod, then turned away. There was one thing he had found about that would be the first step to achieving revenge, and justice. He had learned, from another agent, that Sidious had been extending searching tendrils into the Corporate Sector, and toward the Trade Federation especially. Alamys had dealt with the Neimoidians before, and he knew them to be keen businesspeople with a strong desire for secure deals. Which meant that they would not look kindly upon risk, and with Alamys Jorka bent on revenge, any deal with Darth Sidious became very risky indeed, and prone to attack and failure. Which was why he needed those mercenaries. But first, credits. Unfortunately Byrol was right about that. But this was Nar Shadaa. Here virtually everything could be bought and sold. Especially knowledge. And Alamys knew a few things that one man in particular would pay good money for. He gave a soft laugh. If Sidious ever found out that his most recent agent was none other than Alamys Jorka, he would certainly not be amused. With luck, he would be dead.

She had never felt so embarrassed and ashamed in all her life. For most of the past years Shmi Skywalker had thought of herself as an honest, diginfied woman, who knew right from wrong, and what was a do and what a don't. She had been a slave for too long not to know, and, contrary to some of those sharing her fate, she had accepted the facts of her life. There was no way to change her position, and she tried to make the best of her situation. But now everything had changed. It had begun with a strange sickness that had her concerned at first, then frightened. Because she had known the symptoms all too well. Not from her own experience, but there had been households in which the female slaves were allowed to marry, and there had been other occasions, when a particularly pretty woman might attract her master's attention, but neither had ever seemed possible turn in the life of Shmi Skywalker. 

But now she was pregnant, very visibly so. The confusing and shaming part of this predicament was not only that she had no idea how this could have happened, but also that it confirmed her master's wildest worries about her. And, thus reassured, he would be sending her away. Shmi stood in her small chamber, head bowed, hands fodled protectively across her swollen belly, and let her mistress' soothing words wash over her. 

"Please, do not be so distressed," she said, helplessly patting the younger woman's back. "My husband has a quic temper, you know, and a soft heart. He won't just send you out into the street."

"He will sell me," Shmi replied, her voice hollow. The truthwas clear to her, and she could tell that it was just as clear to her mistress, by the way th old woman flinched at those words. "And who will have me? I will not be able to work as hard as I could until the child is born and then – I will have to give it away, won't i?" A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away self-consciously.

"Oh Shmi, dear," her mistress sighed. "It would be easier were we to know the father's name. Perhaps he could buy you, or take care of the child."

But there was no man," Shmi insisted stubbornly, even though she knew that no one believed her. Her mistress, though, at least did not blame her for her pregnancy.

The older woman sighed again. "Shmi, it is no shame, and there can be accidents." Her voice dropped lower. "Of course, if you were violated, that would perhaps explain why you cannot remember. But the medic said she excluded that possibility. I – I honestly cannot imagine why you would not tell me." 

That had been been three months ago. 

Shmi had found no solace, no reassurance even with her mistress, and her master had made his threat come true. For weeks he had complained quite openly about how difficult it was to sell a pregnant female. The Hutts wanted slaves that could work, and the closer Shmi came to her term, the gloomier her master grew. And then her mistress had found someone, a friend of hers, as it turned out. Pi-Lippa was an old woman, older than Shmi's former mistress, but she was kind enough not to mind buying a still vigorous young slave cheaply. Perhaps she did it only to do Shmi's mistress a favour. Pi-Lippa, as it turned out, was not as rich as her former master. She owned a small electronics shop in the port district of Ylesia's capital, and from the very first day Shmi was under the impression that her new owner had bought herself not only someone to help, but also company. 

When Shmi gave birth to her son, her beautiful son, Pi-Lippa was there for her, while the nurses worked to deliver the child. It was an easy birth, Shmi was told, but it had still exhausted her. And yet, when one of the attending nurses gently lay the baby against her breasts, Shmi could not help but smile, despite her weariness.

"He is beautiful," she whispered, and raised a hand to gingerly touch his tiny face. "So beautiful."

Beside her, Pi-Lippa was beaming with joy. "What will you name him?" she asked, almost timidly. 

Shmi frowned, uncertain. "Honestly, I had not thought about that," she confessed. Truth be told, she had tried to ignore her pregnancy as much as she could. Else her master's cruel jibes would have hurt too much. But now she could ignore this wondrous creature that had grown inside her womb no longer. Her smile deepened, but then she turned questioning eyes on her mistress. "Do you know a name, perhaps? I have none that comes to mind, none I am fond of," she whispered, feeling suddenly very sad. 

At once the older woman was beside her and ran her hand down the side of the young mother's face. "Don't worry," she soothed her. "We will find a name for him. A good name. You'll see."

But Shmi was lost in thought. She was trying to remember something, that seemed just out of sight, tantalizing and seductive. A face, a name. Something about the sun. "Anakin," she said aloud. "Anakin!" She gave a soft, tired laugh. "What do you say?" she asked, throwing a worried glance at Pi-Lippa.

The old woman regarded her curiously, but said nothing. She only nodded. Then one of the nurses appeared in Shmi's field of vision, and soon after, she had her tiny son all for herself. Holding him gently, she closed her eyes, and fell asleep, dreaming of Tatooine.

Theed's new administrator looked radiant in her official wardrobe, and for once Darth Sidious allowed himself to cherish the satisfaction he felt over Almanda's electoral victory. Her eyes sought his proudly across the room, and he acknowledged her with an almost imperceptible nod of his head. Beside her, King Veruna looked almost relieved, as he always did, when he had navigated the sharp cliffs of his office, even if those cliffs merely were boulders, like the inauguration of the capital's administrator. The man was incompetent, Sidious thought, and almost chuckled when his thoughts remiinded him that he tended to think everyone else beneath his own skills, and that it had cost him painful lessons over the years. While that was true, those lessons were long learned, and he truly was master now. He knew it with all his heart.

Just today an informant had brought news, that Alamys Jorka had been seen on Nar Shadaa, again, and Sidious felt strangely astounded at the Jedi Master's stupidity. Why would he return there anyway? He had, just to be on the safe side, contacted Indan Fathura, another agent of his on the Smuggler's Moon. But Fathura, as it turned out, had vanished without a trace. So he had seen himself forced to promote the latest addition to his network of informants. The man seemed reliable ennough. And apparently he was tracing Alamys Jorka with more success than the unfortunate bounty-hunter who had claimed the killing of the Jedi Master all those years ago. For now, though, Sidious had ordered the agent to only keep an eye on the man and find out what he was planning to do. And, of course, he had other things to deal with than the renegade Jedi. That was, he had to deal with _another_ renegade Jedi Master. Dooku.

With Almanda Dar's position secured for now, and her affections for him still growing strong, Darth Sidious knew that he would soon be elected to represent the Naboo in the Galactic Senate of Coruscant. And of course, Mas Amedda would also lend aid in that endeavour. Things could not possibly be better for introducing Count Dooku into his little scheme. But first, he needed something to convince the Jedi Master to join him. Something substantial, and something that would strengthen the Count's separatist movement. A government scandal, perhaps, involving the Jedi. Not paying any more attention to the proceedings around him, Darth Sidous was lost in thought. If he could somehow discredit the Jedi, _and_ the Galactic Senate, he might achieve a better standing with Dooku's supporters. But first ... First he needed to take very careful steps to reintroduce the Sith into this galaxy. He _was_ master, after all. And a Sith Master was master of all. 

Looking up sharply, he flashed a smile at Almanda, then turned to leave. He made his way to his office briskly, and made Shya Kee jump up in surprise when he entered so unexpectedly, but he barely noticed her flustered state. "I want you to summon my newest agent, Wu Ziryll. He is to meet me in five standard days at Roa Space Station."

"And that other assignment? Is he to abandon that?" she asked carefully.

"I am fully confident that he can continue that assignment once he has performed that other little task for me. Five days," he reminded her. "And," he added in a soft voice, "make certain that the same invitation goes to Count Dooku. With one small distinction. He is to meet me at the same location in seven standard days."

"What if he arrives earlier than that?"

"Yes," he purred, "what if? There is no risk involved for me, my dear."

"Of course, master," she replied hastily, lowering her gaze demurely. "And your – lady? What will you be telling her?"

"That is none of your concern, Shya. And now get to work."

The message reached him in transit to Obroa-skai, and was more than unwelcome, especially when he had read its contents for the second time. This came at a very awkward time indeed. He was on his way to Weyla, where he was supposed to meet Byrol and begin negotiations with diverse representatives of the mercenary and pirate groups raiding the Perlmanian Trade Route into the Corporate Sector. With the credits he had received for his latest job, Alamys felt confident that he could interest them, at the very least. To be now summoned to meet his contractor came at the most inopportune of moments. He did not feel ready yet to face Sidious again. This summons could kill him, or delay his plans of revenge immensely. On the other hand, it was also an opportunity to gain intimate knowledge of the Sith Lord's own plans. 

When he had introduced himself as Wu Ziryll, Alamys had never even considered the possibility of meeting the Sith face to face. Usually, Sidious did not bother with personal contact to his agents, as he had been relieved to find out. And so far the Jedi Master had been pretty certain that Sidious had no clue as to who he had acquired as latest addition to his network of agents. For now, he should not find out either. Fortunately, there were a few factors that would play in Alamys' favour. The first, and most important, was his own presence in the Force. During the little interlude on Ylesia Alamys had given up most of his innate power, and what remained was only what the Motha Virus granted him. Which should make him a pretty unremarkable force in contrast to Sidious. The Sith Lord would never suspect who was facing him, especially not with the second detail, that came into play. Fed up with his weakening bone-structure and the consequences that growing weakness entailed, Alamys had finally decided to let his own principles stand back in favour of a more practical approach. 

Alamys Jorka had never been someone who liked having to resort to subterfuge, had always been someone who detested hiding his own abilities, beliefs and intentions. Therefore he never wore armour, not even in battle. Ever since he had been infected with the virus, though, his attitude had been changing, on almost all levels of his own ethics and morals. This included forgoing honesty for a chance at surviving long enough to get his revenge. Therefore Alamys had had Byrol order a set of full-body armour for him, which served both as disguise as well as protection. It had been modeled after the now rare armoured suits that the warriors of the Mandalorian supercommandos had used to wear. There were still a few survivors around, some would-be Mandalorians too, as Alamys knew very well. He had fought these supercommandos in his younger days, and therefore the disguise made much sense to him. He knew how they acted, how they moved, their code of honour and their fighting style. And he knew enough of their history to fool Sidious, that he was certain of. 

But what was the Sith Lord planning to do on Roa Station? The station was in orbit around the planet Malastare, a vibrant world full of dangers, and deeply enmeshed in the trade network that also included the Neimoidians' Trade Federation, and a few other corporate worlds. In fatc, it made perfect sense for Sidious to visit there, with what Alamys had uncovered about his plans so far. Still, that did not answer the question of the what was he aiming at there? Well. No doubt he would find out soon enough.

Four days later Wu Ziryll made his arrival on Roa Station, a day in advance of the prearranged meeting with the Sith Lord. He wanted to first get a feel for the place, check on escpae routes and possible traps he could use to his own advantage. Republic presence was low on this station, making it easier for him to move around unchallenged. The remaining Mandalorians were outlaws still, and it would certainly not do for him to be arrested by some overeager Republic military commander. Not now, not ever. Mouth twisting in distaste, Alamys imagined Master Yoda's face, should he find one of his two missing Jedi Master's returned ot the Temple under such ridiculous circumstances. Explaining his disappearance alone would be very awkward, especially considering that Alamys had been working solo for the past years on a project that the council would claim to not onyl be too dangerous, but also highly questionable for him to take on alone. 

No, no. Better not to get the Jedi involved. They would mess up anyway. 

Alamys had sent a message to Byrol, using their special code to prevent anyone who, by chance, might be tracking his transmissions from getting the wrong ideas about Wu Ziryll. He was a Mandalorian warrior, a fugitive and mercenary. He held contacts to the Corporate Sector and quite a few illegal fringe groups. He was – in no way – connected to Coruscant, or the Jedi Order. It came to Alamys only then, as he repeated these facts to himself, that actually they were right on target, and described his situation well enough. Except for the Mandalorian origins. A humourless smile crossed his face beneath the helmet. It seemed as if he had retained _some_ of his principles after all.

Crossing a walkway. Alamys Jorak aka Wu Ziryll idly watch the traffic pass. Even on this station speeders zipped along the busy lanes, apart from cargo barges and public transport. It was then that he spotted an especially important-looking vehicle, a sleek black thin with tinted windows. He decided to follow it immediately. Adopting the smooth gait of the Mandalorian supercommandos, one hand always hovering over the handle of his blaster, Alamys stalked the speeder cautiously, moving by instinct and memory alone. He had spent hours memorizing Roa Station's schematics and layout, after all, and now that effort was paying off. And it was far less obvious to not follow the speeder's route directly. He met the vehicle again in Roa Station's finer part, a closed off section, really, sporting expensive hostels, clubs, and other entertainment. For Alamys Jorka it was not really a problem to gain access there, and he took great pains not to accidentally leave a nice proof-print on some security camera. He could not know whether Sidious had not arrived early too, and it would not do for his 'employer' to believe his agent to be careless.

The Jedi Master dropped lightly onto a deserted balcony, deftly avoiding the invisible net of motion detectors, which crisscrossed the front and sides of the balcony. From his perch, he had an excellent view on the black limousine speeder below. The passenger compartment's door slid aside noiselessly, allowing a tall figure to emerge. Alamys gave a grunt of surprise, when he recognised the man. Dooku. What in Sith's hells was the count doing here of all places? He had lost Dooku's trail back on Raxus Prime, years ago. To find him now, here on Roa Station, with Sidious arriving any minute now, was breath-taking confirmation of what he had been suspecting for quite some time. Dooku was in league with the Sith. On Raxus Prime, the count had railed publicly against the Jedi Order, and the Republic, stirring the emotion sof the dissatisfied among the republic's citizens, and back then Alamys had already seen the possibilities this uproar opened up for Sidious, whatever he was planning. 

If the Sith Lord wanted to remain undetected, until he had secured his position, he would need to use someone else to be the focus of the Republic's attention, someone who kept the Jedi's eyes trained on other things than Sidious' scheming. Which meant that Alamys had accidentally stumbled into something very big that would be happening here, on Roa Station, or perhaps, which, as he suddenly realised, was even more likely, on Malastare itself. His mind was racing, searching for the most plausible option, which presented itself in breath-taking clarity. The Jedi Order, on behalf of the Republic, had tried to wipe out the warriors of the Mandalorian supercommandos completely, but had obviously failed in that task. And Malastare, a world as independent as it could be without leaving the Republic, would make the perfect stage for an attack by terrorist elements that the government had failed to eliminate decades ago. It would undermine Dooku's stance, that the Republic was unable to promote and uphold order, that it neglected the more distant worlds of its realm, and that the Jedi Order was also as indifferent and inefficient as the government of the Republic itself. 

In that, Alamys had to admit, the count was not all that wrong. Of course, first he needed to confirm whether his assumption was right at all. And that confirmation, he knew with every fiber of his being, he would have tomorrow.

TBC


	18. Encounters

Darth Sidious arrived early at the designated meeting-place, a spacious apartment that Shya had rented for him, and now he sat idly in the living-room, letting time run by. He had determined the place and time, and it was at his two visitors to attend and prove their committment. Either one might betray him, if they had but an inkling of who, of what he was. But he had not revealed himself yet, and he was not certain if he ever would let any of the two in on his secrets. His spies on Roa Station had informed him of Count Dooku's arrrival, and he had made a mental note of the man's cautious nature in this endeavour. He had arrived earlier than his summons dictated, undoubteldy to prepare. Of Wu Ziryll there was no trace, and Sidious felt strangely pleased by that. It spoke of the agent's skill, and the Sith Master took pride in efficiency, be it in himself or others who worked for him. If Ziryll proved himself here, on Malastare, he might go a long way in Darth Sidious's service. 

There was a discreet buzz, the door-alarm announcing a visitor. Somewhat surprised, Sidious rose from his seat to walk over to the door, but a soft thud from behind, so faint that only a Force-enhanced ear would perceive it, alerted him to the presence on the balcony. Turning back, he looked straight at the armoured warrior facing him through the transparisteel. It was a measure of self-control, that the Sith Master felt barely a whisper of the man's presence. Intriguing. At a gesture of his hand, the balcony door opened, and admitted the Mandalorian into the apartment's fresh, cool air. He gave the man a tight smile, his face concealed by the hooded cloak he wore. 

"A dramatic entry," he chided the agent softly, "could well turn into an equally dramatic demise. What if I had thought you a threat? An assassin?"

"You were expecting me, my master," Wu Ziryll answered calmly, his deep voice strangely reassuring. "But won't you let your other visitor enter too? He is waiting in front of the apartment door now, I believe."

Startled, Sidious turned his head to glare at the door, then looked back at the bounty-hunter. "The other visitor?"

"Our paths crossed on the way here, and I thought that perhaps he was also coming to meet you. Therefore I took another way up. I was not certain, master, if you had planned on introducing us to each other."

Dooku was aready here? But their meeting had been scheduled to take place in two days! The faint note of mockery in Ziryll's voice prompted Sidious' temper to flare red hot. "A sharp mind and a sharp tongue sometimes are not as healthy a combination as one might believe," he snarled, and watched in satisfaction, as the Mandalorian's gloved hands came up to his throat, as if trying to dislodge the invisible collar that was choking him slowly. There was a strange sound from behind the helmet's face-mask, and Sidious let go again. "Now that he is here, I shall receive you both. Open the door."

Watching Wu Ziryll go, Darth Sidious frowned darkly at the man's back. He appreciated efficiency, yes, but back-talk and smart-mouth comments would not be tolerated. He could think for himself, and better than this rogue warrior, too. The man was too cocky for his own good... The Mandalorian returned, silently shadowing the tall man entering before him. Count Dooku, a beard adorning his noble features and accentuating his sad, strangely intense eyes, appeared not to be surprised by the bounty-hunter's presence. He gave Darth Sidious an appraising look, then nodded to himself, a small smile appearing on his thin lips. "A cautious ally," he said, his voice matching his majestic appearance. Without hesitation, the Sith Master drew back the hood of his cloak, revealing his face.. "Senator Cos Palpatine," Dooku intoned calmly. "An honor to meet you in person."

"The honor is mine, Count Dooku. Please be seated." Following his own words, Sidious noticed Wu Ziryll taking up position close to the door, facing the balcony, his hands crossed lightly in front of him in a relaxed posture. Listening.

"I must admit your message intrigued me," Dooku explained, "as you could well guess, since I have agreed to this meeting in the first place. You said we had interests in common – yet I cannot see that so clearly, with Naboo's past as one of the staunchest supporters of the Republic."

Sidious smiled indulgently. "The Naboo are a peaceful people, and democracy is the ideal we hold above everything else. Should democracy be threatened, be it from within or without, we do have an interest in common with people who seek to expose tyranny within our own ranks of government. People like you, my lord. The Naboo may be peaceful, but we have made diplomacy our weapon, words our shield."

"Words have power, certainly," Dooku agreed reluctantly, but what if more drastic measure were required?" 

"Required for what?"

The count's gaze shifted momentarily, as if he were seeing something beyond normal perception. "The Republic is corrupt, inefficient and uncaring. Its self-proclaimed guardians share those failures. Some people grow discontent with things as they are. They might consider seceding from the Republic, and founding an independent realm, to begin anew."

"I must agree with you here, sadly enough," Sidious purred. "And under whose leadership would such an endeavour be conducted? Yours?"

Dooku gazed at him stony-faced. "Let us not speak of the future, when we both do not know it clearly yet. Fact is, that change is needed. Reforms. The Republic needs to conform itself to the wishes of its people. And this change can be brought about only by those who have the power to do so. Trade networks, conglomerates. The heart and soul of the Republic is trade. Change must be affected by way of money. Credits, Senator. I would like to know your stance on this observation."

Sidious almost smiled. The man was no idealistic fool, that much was clear. On the contrary. Dooku understood the workings of the Republic very well. "What change are you referring to?"

"I still believe in the Republic," the count replied, "but we need new leadership, people who understand the value of flexibility, who can work the Senate efficiently." His gaze sharpened once more. "_Are_ you such a leader, Senator Palpatine?"

The Sith Master looked down at his hands in a humble gesture. "We all try our best to serve, do we not?" he answered quietly. Then he met Dooku's eyes again, adding, "I shall try to prove myself worthy of what dream you pursue. Perhaps we can even make that common dream true one day. I for one would welcome it."

"I appreciate your committment, Senator. You have an understanding for my needs, I believe, and I shall be watching you closely, for a while. As you can well guess, I do have plans of my own. Perhaps, one day, you will share part of them."

"It would be an honor," Sidious murmured, sounding truly stunned.

"And yet," Dooku continued, his tone suddenly cutting, "you surround yourself with vermin." He threw a pointed hlance at the bounty-hunter standing at his back. "The Mandalorians never were friends of any democracy."

"They are nevertheless testimony to the Republic's corruption. And I believe in redemption, personally," the Sith Master explained earnestly. "Wu Ziryll is an adept agent, and he is loyal. Alas, as Senator I do not have ready access to certain cycles that I might need to be informed about. Ziryll is of great assistance there."

"That I do not doubt," the count admitted, but he sounded doubtful. He rose abruptly. "Well, I must say it is always a pleasure to encounter people of like-minded interests. I have long admired Naboo for its unerring stance toward democracy, and I wish that it will always remain a bastion of freedom. We will meet again, Senator, I have no doubt."

"Neither do I. It would be a pleasure."

The two men exchanged more pleasantries, as Sidious escorted Dooku to the door to see him off. Once the Jedi Master had left, he spun around to glare at the Mandalorian, who still stood like a silent statue. "Tell me, Wu Ziryll, do you believe he meant what he was saying?"

"Every word, master."

Sidious gave a low chuckle of amusement. "Fine. Then we shall indulge the good man and prove our worthiness as allies."

"We, master?"

"Oh yes. You did not believe I had summoned you here only to act as my bodyguard, did you?"

"Not one moment."

"Excellent. Then I shall lay out yor assignment in detail, but first," he added, "tell me about your progress in tracking Alamys Jorka."

Alamys hesitated for barely a moment. The advantage he had was, of course, that he knew exactly where his supposed quarry was, so there was no danger of getting caught in a lie. Who was to prove him wrong? Meeting Sidious' gaze through his mask shield, the Jedi Master replied, "He is on his way to the Corporate Sector and I have enough connections there to find him again, once this assignment is finished. He will not escape me."

"Do you have any idea what he might want in the Corporate Sector?"

Alamy shrugged. "Your debriefing only specified his skills as a fighter, not his motivation. As long as I do no know what interest you might have in seeing him dead, I have no clue as to what he might be planning in turn."

"Yes, of course." The Sith Master gave him a curious look. "I want him dead and out of my way. But he is resourceful, and he might try to act against me. You have connections in the Coporate Sector, you say? Perhaps you should set them on discovering his plans there while you are stuck on this mission on Malastare. And you will give me the name of at least one of your contacts. In case," he flashed a cold smile, "this misson turns out to be too much for you."

"It will be as you wish, master," Alamys retorted calmly, bowing his head in acquiesance. He had hoped to draw Sidous out in the open with his plans by suggesting that the Jedi Master might outsmart him yet, but the Sith was too cautious for that. Unfortunately. When he looked up again he found Sidous looking a him placidly, obviously waiting for something. What? He wanted the names – now? Suppressing a surge of panic, Alamys frantically tried to think of someone besides Byrol, who might qualify. "A Devaronian, my partner," he said at last. "I have already sent him ahead, to Weyla, when your call came in." Sidious nodded encourgingly. "The other is a Falleen, a customs officer. He notices everyone who comes in. His name is Bray La."

"Excellent. Then we can proceed to your assignment." The Sith Master took his seat once more, his back to Alamys. "You will not question me, and simply do what you are told, is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear," Jorka replied, feeling just a little bit uneasy. But he had sworn to himself to do whatever it might take, to unravel Sidious' scheme, before he took the Sith out once and for all. It would be so easy to attack now, to take advantage of Sidious' ignorance of who he was. But he could not be sure whether that would be enough. Unconsciously, his hand twitched toward his blaster, but he stopped himself just in time. So easy ... 

"Very well. Your presence is almost all that is required. Many still remember the Mandalorian supercommandos, and your appearance will remind them of the Jedi's failure to bring all of your compatriots down. A little sabotage, a few dead, it will certainly convince the local government that the Republic is inept and indifferent to its citizens' needs. Needless to say that you will be listed in the channels afterwards. I trust your abilities to keep you able to pursue Alamys Jorka. This datacard," a flat rectangle appeared in his right hand, "will give you the location and date of the operation." 

Alamys took the data in solemn silence, sensing that more was to come. Sidious gazed at him out of keen blue eyes, and another smile was lurking at the corners of his mouth. He had aged, more than he should have, Alamys thought, and there was something about him that the Jedi Master could not quite identify, but it frightened him nevertheless. As if the cunning and cruelty he had witness in the young man he had been had deepened, matured, to a level were malice turned into madness. 

"You have done well in the past, which is why you were selected for this task. But know this, Wu Ziryll, I do not take chances. Turn around." Alamys did as ordered, and for the first time he became fully aware of the tiny droid hovering in one corner of the room noiselessly, shaped like a bulbuous lamp. He had seen it upon entering, he remembered now, and had dismissed it again. Now it seemed very menacing indeed. "Do you know what this is?" Sidious asked, as Alamys turned back to face him. A rethorical question. "It is programmed to record the movements of everyone present in this room safe myself. A number of aggressive-behaviour patterns is stored in its memory, and it reacts quite violently. It does also transmit to this screen," he added pleasantly, holding up his hand, where a small, skin-toned rectangle was fixed to his palm. "I do not expect you to care for me beyond the credits that flow into your account on Bespin, my friend. But I do not take kindly to betrayal."

The Jedi Master swallowed hard. "Of course," he managed hoarsely. "I understand." 

And now that Sidious had the names of his contacts on Weyla, he would have no problem in tracking his quarry without Wu Ziryll's help. For a moment the immediate future flashed hotly in Jorka's mind. The Sith was planning to sacrifice the Mandalorian and get rid of him at the same time. Whatever the 'operation' that he was to he part of, Sidious would make certain that there was no escape for him. It was in that moment that Alamys Jorka decided that Wu Ziryll would no longer serve the Sith Lord. Once Sidious was away from Roa Station, he would travel down to Malastare, for show, then slip out of the system the first chance he got, to rejoin Byrol, and warn Bray La. Of course, there was the chance that he would reveal his identity to Sidious then, but, knowing the Sith Master, that one would be amused by his enemy's efforts at subterfuge, no more. 

"Good," Sidious purred softly, his smile widening as he closed his fingers over the tiny screen. "Now that this is understood, I wish you good luck on your assignment. You may leave."

With a nod and without another word, Wu Ziryll left the apartament, striding through the hallway and to the stairs quickly. He knew that the security cameras were off-line, so he did not bother to hide, but was cautious enough not to take the turbo-lift. He would be trapped in there, should anything go wrong. Besides, walking down the stairs would give him more time to think. Once he revealed his identity there would be no more hiding right under Sidious' nose, the man would be watching for it. Or perhaps not. The Sith was arrogant enough to assume that Alamys would not try the same trick twice. Smiling to himself, Jorka wondered whether that might not be an advantage he could use. 

Yes, that sounded about right.

Once the bounty-hunter had left, Darth Sidious sat brooding in the small apartment, trying to mull over the past encounters. Dooku certainly was a promising ally, and the Sith Master did not doubt that in time he could convince the former Jedi Master of his own qualities as ally. The incident he had planned to take place on Malastare would draw the planet's government tightly into his snare, enabling him to unlock the Hutt's crime empire too, with care. He had not been idle since Darth Nexus had passed away, and he had unrelentingly pursued his plans even while apprentice to Roj Kell. And while the former had been the reason for this ambitious project, that would be his life's work, the latter had given him the tools and knowledge to further his plans. Now he only needed to implement them. The only thorn in his side, of course, was the fact that the Force-bedamned Jedi Master Alamys Jorka continued to breathe, despite several efforts at curing him of that particular burden. 

And now he was daring to play his own games with the Sith Master, enlisting allies of his own. Wu Ziryll certainly had not realized what warning he had been given, and for whom it was intended. But the Mandalorian, false or real, would undoubtedly report to his master to inform him about the current happenings on Roa Station. And Alamys would understand that Sidious was watching, and not fool enough not to see through his nemesis' web. Had the Jedi truly believed that he could insert an agent of his own into Sidious' network without him noticing? Ziryll's 'success' at tracking Jorka had been pleasantly surprising at first, but on his voyage to Roa Station Sidious had been expecting some doubts as to the man's loyalties. _Never let yourself be blinded by good fortune_, Roj Kell had once told him. _If things are running too smoothly, consider the possibility that someone is actually helping you along. Uncover his motives, only then can you be sure of yourself._ It had been far too coincidental that Ziryll had appeared when he had, and that he apparently had no problem tracking a man who had proven to be extremely elusive over the course of _years_.

Lucky for Sidious that Jorka was apparently growing bolder with age. A curious development, to be sure. He had not expected the Jedi Master to resort to subterfuge and try to strike back at his adversary that way. Well, this game was for two players, and he would certainly not stay idle in forming a response. The first would be to deprive Alamys Jorka of his agents. First this Ziryll, then the Devaronian and the Falleen. Ziryll had already betrayed their location. Weyla, a small planet in the Corporate Sector. Belatedly, it came to him that any operation he conducted in the Corporate Sector at this point in time would prove to be extremely awkward. Especially with a set of allies that was edgy already. His right hand curled into a fist as he grunted his displeasure. Too bad. Then he would have to contend with taking out Wu Ziryll when he could. Preferably before he could contact Alamys. 

Rising from his seat, the Sith Master felt oddly disgruntled. Why did he have to do everything by himself? Perhaps it was time he found an apprentice of his own after all.

And so it happened that one of the vilest terrorist acts of recent years was again laid at the Mandalorians' feet. The blast radius of the bomb that detonated in Malastare's most famous racing arena wiped out thirty thousand spectators and all of the thirty athletes assembled there to compete in a celebratory race to honor the economical upswing that had graced Malastare just recently. Of the man who had carried the bomb into the arena only his fire-proof armour was found. The rest of him had disintegrated along with his victims. No one mentioned the presence of a Jedi Master at the arena, and no one had seen his passing at high speed from the complex just before the bomb exploded. Had anyone taken notice of him, though, they would have been able to describe the man quite accurately. No one, at least no human, had eyes like that. 

Those eyes, their blue fighting a losing battle against the sick yellow seeping into it, were now gazing at a tired, scarred face in the mirror above the bar, and the owner of those eyes was listening wearily to the recently named Senator of Naboo prattle on about galactic harmony and the need for governmental reforms. It was no surprising in the least that the representative of Malastare was the very first to side with the Nubian. By the time the bar-keeper switched the holovid to another channel, Alamys could be sure that Sidious had scored another victory in his grand scheme. And now he had at least an inkling of what the Sith Lord was planning_. A little sabotage and a few dead_, he remembered Sidious telling him. Alamys's face twisted in dismay. _What a joke_. People were calling upon the Galactic Senate to solve their problems, to the Jedi, and if Sidious kept on sowing his little disruptive terrorist acts, covert or not, demands would soar, and soon the government and the Jedi would have to think of new ways to battle the growing darkness. 

Unfortunately, his own resources were too slim to affect anything for real. If he became too provocative the Republic itself would be on his trail. But then, he did not really have to go as far as the Republic. A smile appeared on his weathered features, the first one in days, and as he turned on the stool he perched on to look along the other patrons sitting at the bar, Alamys caught the cautious glance sent at him by Byrol. The Devaronian gave him a sickly grin, then turned his head away again. They were here to meet a few representatives of the pirates Alamys wanted to hire. That plan of his was still up to date. It would take some time to gather experience in working with his soon to be crew, to put them through a few maneuvers, a few tests perhaps. But he was patient, and patience always won out. He only had to look to Sidious for example. Raising the glass of Corellian brandy sitting before him, Alamys shot a crooked smile at the holovid, where the Senator of Naboo had long been replaced by a news show, and quietly toasted the Sith Master with his drink. _Here's to patience. Let's see which one of us has the longer breath._

TBC


	19. Trouble in the making

__

Nine years later

She could not deny that she liked him. He gave her confidence, and she relied on his experience in matters of the Senate to complement her own knowledge. And he had a passion for politics that he shared with her. Right now, seated on the throne-like chair that dominated the Council Chamber in Theed's Royal Palace, Padmé Amidala Naberrie, fourteen years of age and determined to appear far older, at least in public, caught Cos Palpatine's gaze and almost blushed when he winked at her. Naboo's royalty was not allowed to dawdle once inauguration ceremonies were over. And so it was that on the very first day of her reign Queen Amidala of the Naboo found herself discussing her planet's economy.

She was uncomfortably aware of the fact that her election had been somewhat influenced by the surprising withdrawal of her fiercest competitor. Almanda Dar had been Theed's administrator before the newly elected queen had held that post, at twelve years of age. Back then the older woman had graciously refrained from trying another run in the administrative elections. It had been clear to Padmé then that Almanda Dar was striving for a higher calling. And many kings and queens had been the capital's administrators before ascending Naboo's throne. Nothing unsusual there. Almanda had been well-liked by the people, and very well-liked by the elite of Nubian politicians. In the election race this past year Padmé had known that if Almanda Dar accepted the people's wish to see her in competition she would not refuse. And she had not. 

But then ugly rumours had ruined what had been promising to become the culmination of a long and successful political carreer. Almanda Dar had become pregnant. There had been talk of her having an affair with Naboo's quietly competent senator, and Padmé had found that she approved. They seemed the perfect match. But once Almanda Dar's condition became public the gossip had it that the child's father was actually King Veruna himself. It had blemished Almanda Dar's reputation immensely, painting her as a woman who would do just about anything to achieve her goals. Curiously enough Cos Palpatine had distanced himself from his lover, a relationship never fully confirmed, and spent less and less time on Naboo, instead preferring to conduct business with his home world via the holonet. Of course, those rumours had also tainted the king's reputation too. Veruna had ordered an investigation, fuming, and the end result had confirmed what Padmé had quietly been suspecting all along. The child, born only three months ago, was Cos Palpatine's daughter, but nevertheless her mother's career lay in shambles, since the child's true father had not seen fit to clear up those rumours. And King Veruna had been reasonably angry at leaving office in so vile an atmosphere. 

Padmé had understood his fury very well. Nubian politicians were very conscious of their reputation, and she was no exception there. Which was why accusations of corruption, of misconduct and of improper behaviour were the stepping stones that could ruin a career, just as they had destroyed that of Almanda Dar. The new mother had retreated from public eyes, but had accepted the well-wishings of the electorate winner with grace and dignity. Padmé still thought fondly of that afternoon, when she had been escorted into Almanda's presence, finding the former administrator in bed, looking luminous. Wrapped in her arms had been her daughter, Yana, who was the cutest child Padmé had ever seen. Almanda had congratulated her on her victory and Padmé felt they had parted as friends. 

Looking over at the holo-image of Senator Cos Palpatine she wondered briefly whether he would be spending more time on Naboo now that he was a father. But so far he had not even made any overtures at even proposing to Almanda Dar. Not very proper at all. For a moment Padmé feared that she would have to revise her opinion of the smart senator, but she resolved to have faith in his integrity. He was always full of surprises, and perhaps this time he would surprise her too. Smiling at him, the queen nodded her head, then returned her attention on the Minister of Finance. 

Things could not have been better. Not only had he managed to ensure his legacy, he had also managed to bring his scheme a long step further toward its completion. It was a few hours after the first council session had ended, introducing the new queen to her staff. Sidious sat quite comfortably in a low chair, relaxing a bit and enjoying his triumph for once. He did not doubt that Almanda was expecting him to return to her and lay claim to his daughter. But that he would not do. Not yet. There was too much to do here on Coruscant and, admittedly, elsewhere. A sudden frown shadowed his brow as he thought of what trouble was brewing in the Corporate Sector. There had been an awful lot of pirate raids disrupting the ship lanes of the Trade Federation, and those raids, tying up many, many resources of the Neimoidian merchants, could affect his own plans badly, if he did not manage to explot these attacks for his own ends. There was no question that he would have to do something about these unfortunate incidents, since he needed the Trade Federation focused on his future project, the one for which he had selected Padmé Naberrie to assist him as innocent ally. 

She had no clue that he had been behind her election, discarding one troublesome candidate for a more pliable one. Naberrie was young, far too young for her office, and that would cost her, and benefit him in turn. She trusted him, he knew, and he would certainly make use of that sentiment. But first things first. Propping himself up in his seat he beckoned at the shadows to his right, and a dark figure materialized beside him, head bowed deferentially, before it went to kneel before the chair. 

"What is thy bidding, master?" The voice was low and composed, neither pompous nor fearful. His apprentice was the epitome of deadly efficiency, and patiently awaiting the day he could prove his newly learned skills to his mentor. Just a few weeks had passed since Darth Maul had completed the building of his very first lightsaber, and the weapon truly was a work of art, imitating the glorious double-bladed lasersword favoured by the infamous Sith Master Exar Kun.

"I wish you to kill someone," the Sith Master breathed. "A Jedi Master." He noticed the surrpised look on Maul's tattooed face with some pleasure. "Fallen from grace, alas, and fallen from power." 

A small smile stole onto his lips. He knew who was behind the attacks on the Trade Federation ships. Should have seen those raids coming, in fact. But nine years ago he had not been in a position to send agents of his own into the Corporate Sector to deal a devastating blow to the yet growing network Alamys Jorka had begun to establish on Weyla then. Now he was paying for that inconvenience, but not as badly as Jorka might be hoping. The Jedi Master undoubtedly planned on scaring the Neimoidians off any deal they might otherwise make with the Sith Master. He had to have found out about that particular aspect of Sidous' plans from Fathura on Nar Shadaa, before he killed the agent. Oh yes. Alamys Jorka had plunged headlong into the darkest depth of all possible futures. He had forsaken all of his principles for his revenge upon the Sith Lord who had once been his captor. And he was far too caught up in pursuing his vengeance to realize how easy it was to manipulate him now. Another lesson learned from the master of manipulation, Roj Kell. But Jorka also failed to realize that any attack that he and his mercenary friends were conducting upon the Trade Federation's shipments only served to make them more desperate to take any assistance the Sith might offer against these aggressions. Which was why he would be sending Darth Maul to Weyla.

He knew, of course, that he took a terrible risk in sending Maul against the Jedi Master, but the boy had defeated a far more dangerous opponent already. None other than Sidious' own master, Roj Kell. Thanks to young Maul that scheming krayt dragon of a Sith Lord now dwelled in hopefully miserable exile on the storm-ridden planet called Korriban, the dreaded World of the Dead. Under guard, which goes without saying. With Kell safely out of the way Sidious could be certain that he was the only one left to guide the galaxy's fate. The Jedi Council's power was dwindling, thanks to a few convenient manipulations done and huge bribes offered to the right officials. Mas Amedda, the Galactic Senate's vice-chair and another of Sidious' growing number of accomplices in his quest, was making certain that certain events would fall in place exactly on time. Including the taxation of trade routes that would serve as the spark to ignite the next phase of Sidious' scheme_. Know your chosen battle-ground and your opponents. And know your allies before anyone else_, his last master had taught him, and Sidious was staying close to that lesson. The battle-ground would be his home-world, Naboo. And by the time Maul had accomplished his mission on Weyla the minor matter of Jorka's annoying attempts at interference would have turned into an advantage for the Sith Lord. For all his knowledge of strategy and tactics, and despite all his empathy for other people's feelings, Alamys Jorka had failed to grasp the workings of politics entirely. A bad overisght on the Jedi Master's part. And so he would play his own role in bringing an end to the Galactic Republic as it had stood for thousands of years. That particular vision of the future cause the Sith Master to give a pleased sigh. But his reverie was broken by his apprenctice, when Maul said:

"Master, forgive me for intruding upon your thoughts, but how am I to accomplish this mission?"

Of course. He had not yet given the boy his mission briefing. Amused with his own daydreaming, Sidious leaned forward and nodded. "Yes, apprentice. I will tell you what to do. This is only your second solo mission, after all, and I dearly hope you will perform better than during your last assignment. That Jedi almost got you back then, not to mention her despicable accomplices."

"Yes, master. I will do better," Maul replied, chastised.

"Good, good. I do not doubt your commitment. Simply remember your focus and shed the ill-conceived notion that you are invulnerable. You are not. And this particular Jedi Master is a very dangerous foe indeed." No need to mention that Alamys had managed to defeat the Sith Lord twice already in their previous encounters. "He is cunning, and he is a superior warrior, far better than you are. Yes," he continued, smiling at Maul's outraged expression, "he is that. And his confidence, my young apprentice, is never to be confused with overconfidence. Understood?"

"Yes, master," Maul retorted between gritted teeth. "I shall be careful."

"You will find his trail on the planet Weyla, in the Corporate Sector. You must be absolutely discreet in this. Do not let anyone survive who has might see you there. The Trade Federation must not know your mission objective, and it must not find out about your existence. Not yet."

No, not yet. The Neimoidians had to grow to fear him much more before he would reveal that he was not acting alone. In time they would find out that the Sith Master had a very adept apprentice to do his bidding. But before that day came the Trade Federation would learn that noone challenged the Sith without facing the consequences. He would almost regret Alamys Jorka's death. The man _had_ been amusing, after all. And yet, he had been better entertainment when he had still been in tune with the Motha Virus. Ver the past years, though, Sidious had found some clues that hinted at a supreme sacrifice offered on the Jedi Master's part. In all of his career as a Jedi, Alamys Jorka had preferred to work alone. And in their previous encounters he had never been shy to challenge Sidious to a Force duel. He would have won too, had be been prepared to destroy himself in the process. But something had changed. This man, Sidious was convinced, would only accept another's assistance if he had no other chocie. In Alamys Jorka's case that had to mean that he had given up the Force after all, to heal himself of the Motha Virus' influence. The only way to heal it, as the Sith Master knew very well. Hagen Dycos had done the same, when he had been afflicted by the virus.Then anoterh thought struck him, and prompted him to caution his apprentice once more.

"Maul," he said then. "Be very careful. It could be that this Jedi Master has in his possession a deadly weapon of curious choice. A virus, transferred through blood. Don't let him cut you and don't let his blood touch you."

"No, master." Maul's lips twisted into a grimace of disgust. "A coward's choice of weapon," he sneered. "It will not save his life."

"Your confidence is, as always, boundless," the Sith Master commented drily, but he was smiling. "Kill the Jedi Master, wipe out his gang, then return."

"Master. What is this Jedi's name?"

"His name, apprentice, is Alamys Jorka. You will find a holoimage and reports of him in the library. Prepare yourself. You will leave in the morning."

Alamys Jorka was not quite asleep yet. Lying on the small bunk he called his own aboard the _Narawa_, a light cruiser of Corellian origins and heavily modified, he was staring up at the gray bulk-head, wondering. Nine years had passed since he had first begun to strike back at his nemesis instead of simply trying to outrun destiny. Nine years since he had forsaken the Force to find some peace of mind and a new focus. That focus, he found again and again, was the child he had never seen. His son. He knew it was a boy, just as he knew that a part of his self would live on in this child. He was wondering what the boy would be doing just then. He did not even know his name, let alone his whereabouts. Had Shmi remained on Ylesia or had she moved on with another master? He had never thought about what might happen to her if she were to become pregrant, if her owner would force her to give the child away, if he would keep them both or sell one or the other. The thought shocked him, and for a fleeting moment he felt something like a bad conscience nagging at the back of his mind. He had implemented a plan without making certain that it would come to fruition at all. Foolish, foolish.

Shaking his head, Alamys put his right arm across his eyes, listening to the quiet hum of the powerful engines purring away somewhere below. The _Narawa_ was on her way home, to one of the small cluster moons orbiting Weyla. After another successful raid and a small fire-fight with the Trade Federations droid ships the pirates and mercenaries of the _Narawa'_s crew where all relieved to be coming to a place of safety. Including the Jedi Master who was their leader in all but name. If asked, th4 men and women of the crews would point to Captain Ushu, the Gammorrean who had been the first to follow Alamys' promise of easy credits, or, if they were of the anti-alien faction, they might mention Commander Trahada, who led the _Narawa_'s own snubfighter squadrons. The tall woman from Corellia was in some ways even nastier than Ushu, and Alamys liked neither of his associates. None of the Narawa pirates, though, would even dream of thinking of the quiet Tyreenese who served in the background, as advisor to their flamboyant captains, colonels and commanders, as their rag-tag band of leaders styled themselves. Alamys did not mind. He provided the credits, the targets and a bit of tactics, if he thought it necessary. 

Years ago he would have been disgusted with this kind of exploitation of human and alien resources. For that was what he was doing, if one took away all the fancy words. He was using them in any way he could, to hurt Sidious and his allies in any which way. There was no chance for him to strike at the Sith Master on Coruscant itself, not if he did not want to risk being exposed for what he was by the Jedi Order itself. No. He coud not ever return there. Never again. It was another lifetime, that seemed so very far ago. Most of his memories had faded into that past, and all Alamys now felt for his career as Jedi Master was indifference. He did not care for the men and women who were dying or bleeding for his vengeance, nor did he care for all innocents who might be harmed by his plans. All thsoe worries were burned away by the hatred he felt whenever he thought of Sidious and his despicable scheming. Those were the only times when Alamys could be bothered to feel something else than absolutely nothing. Another exception was thinking of his son. 

Perhaps, when he was done with Sidious, he would be able to reclaim the boy. Perhaps he could watch him grow up after all. But first things first. To hurt Sidious he needed to discredit the Sith Master in front of his allies. That would harm him far more than being exposed in public view by someone who woudl be declared a raving lunatic in the course of seconds. The Trade Federarion was Sidious's greatest asset, and if Alamys could manage to make them back out of whatever deal they had brokered with the Sith Lord he would be free to make this crusade more personal. Of course, Alamys had lost most of his Force potential back on Ylesia, but he still had the Motha Virus which continued to curse through his bloodstream, pumping flawed midichlorians through his system at high speed. If he concentrated hard enough he could sense them, like an itch beneath his skin, making him feel filthy. But most of the time he refrained from doing just that. In theory, Alamys was still capable of reaching out to the Force, but only if he pushed through to the core of his emotions, which he had buried deep behind a shield of cold reason. There was only darkness and suffering to be found there. 

And yet, that special night that saw the _Narawa_ on her way into a safe haven, Alamys Jorka let his mind drift across that border, let the hungry tendrils of his hatred and anger snap at the shield of carefully constructed indifference, only to remind himself that he was still alive. He was living on, for his vengeance, and yet, somewhere in the back of his mind he saw a boy, luminous and kind, like a bright flare in the darkness. Alamys pictured the boy's face, wondered whether his eyes would be blue like his own, whether he would forever remain in bondage or perhaps gaiin his freedom some day. In a single moment of weakness, enmeshed in long-dead memories, Alamys even wondered if his son might not one day become a Jedi Knight. It was a proud vision, and it felt so _right_. Alamys found the image he had created of his son grow, expanding into infinity, until his mind was swallowed by the light and he awoke, gasping.

"You okay, boss?"

The familiar voice calmed Alamys' thumping heart instantly, and itw as as if a blank mask had fallen over his features and mind. "I am all right, Byrol. Thanks." Sitting up, Alamys Jorka stared off into the distance for a moment longer, trying to remember what it was that had disturbed him so about his vision. Then, long legs swinging over the edge of the bunk, he rose to his feet and stood. The Devaronian, Byrol, was standing outside his cabin, looking worriedly at him. "We have arrived?"

"Yes, boss." Byrol bobbed his head.

"Good." Alamys took a step forward and raised a hand to steady himself against the top of the doorframe of his cabin. "I don't think we should stay home for long. I have a feeling that we've got something big coming our way. Not a chance we should miss," he added, a mirthless smile flashing across his face.

"Sure, boss," Byrol replied cautiously. "Whatever you say."

Lightyears away Shmi Skywalker sat beside her son's small bed, holding on to his trembling body, trying to soothe him. His eyes were huge, and his breathing came raggedly. But, as she held him, she could feel his tiny heart slowing down, his breath lose that desperate edge that had frightened her so moments ago. Running a hand gently through his unruly blond hair, Shmi smiled down at her son fondly. 

"Anakin. It was just a dream. You're back now." She pressed a kiss on the crown of his head. "Back with me."

He gulped up a huge lungful of air, then snuggled into her embrace more deeply. "Was not too bad," he murmured against her blouse, making her smile with his defiant display of courage. She had heard him scream in his sleep, after all, and she thought she knew how bad it had been. A nightmare. "Mum?" Anakin's round face was turned up to gaze at her.

"Yes, my darling?"

"Do you think we'll ever go away from here?"

Taken aback, Shmi hesitated. "Go away?" she asked. "You mean if Watto might sell us to an off-worlder?"

"No," Anakin replied gently, with a fierce shake of his head. "I mean free."

"Oh, darling," Shmi sighed, holding her son a little closer still. "I don't think so. That happens only in tales. Not really."

"But I dreamed it," he whispered then, his voice choked with desperate longing. Longing to have that dream come true. "I dreamed I was a Jedi Knight and freed all the slaves on Tatooine. I freed you, Mum," he added more softly, and in that moment, with his blond bangs hanging into his eyes, the earnest expression on his face, he triggered something in her memory that she had believed lost forever. She remembered a night on Ylesia, a man from Tatooine, as charming and earnest as her little boy was, someone she had believed would save her too, back then. Alamys. "Mum? Mum, why are you crying?" 

Turning away from her son and hating herself for that weakness, Shmi wiped at her cheeks and tried in vain to stop the tears from falling. He had abandoned her to her fate. If he had known that she was with child, would he have come back, stayed with her? She rose abruptly, unable to look at Anakin as she left. His silence hurt her more than she cared to admit to herself. But she could not tell him. He had asked often enough, awkward questions, the most normal question in the world for a boy who was growing up with just his mother. But she did not even know who Alamys was, what he was. Or where, for that matter. Shmi stepped into her own bedchamber and closed the door behind her, lost in memories. What if – There were so many possibilities. But she had to live with the one she had now. 

A bitter smile stole upon her lips as she thought of what Anakin had said_. I dreamed I was a Jedi Knight and freed all the slaves on Tatooine_. A child's dream. And it told her much of how his bonds were chafing at him. He was a restless, inventive little soul, independent-minded and defiant. Anakin bore a confidence that seemed very much at odds with his status as slave. But then, didn't she know that he was special? He was gifted in many things. His empathy for her feelings, or those of friends or owners was astounding. She still recalled how he had soothed her when she had lost them to Watto on a foolish bet. A three year old boy consoling a grown woman who should have known better. The smile lost its bitter edge then and grew fond. Her little boy was indeed special. Perhaps ... Her thoughts halted then, for a heart-beat, before she continued. Perhaps his father was like that too. Perhaps ...

Shaking her head resolutely Shmi slipped back into her bed and refused to admit to her own hopes that had been rekindled by her son's innocent confession of a night's dream. She would not succumb to foolishness, hoping that a knight would save her someday and free her and her little son. He would not come back. And still she lay awake in her bed for a long time, wondering what Alamys was doing, if he remembered her at all. And just before she slipped into sleep again did she ask herself why Anakin had woken screaming from a dream so filled with visions of a happier future. 

"It is a trade convoy," Alamys explained, arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned against the _Narawa_'s main comm console. Across from him sat Captain Ushu, the Gammorean, and Commander Trahada, her cold eyes fixed on the former Jedi Master exclusively. "It will be heavily armed, of course," he continued casually. "We've given them enough opportunity to prepare for our attacks, after all. They've grown cautious."

"Then why do you suggest this operation at all?" Trahada asked, her voice hard. "We don't have nearly enough ships or personnel to conduct such an operation, as you know very well."

Alamys smiled. "But, Commander, this group has ever been open to acquiring new allies. A core group to plan and select targets, head-quartered on the _Narawa_, with splinter groups joining us as we need them. I confess that by now the traders know most of our ships and allies. We haven't made any changes in years. I thought it was time we did."

"So who've you recruited?" Ushu grunted. "And how much money does that cost us, anyway?"

"Now, now, Captain, we both know that with this harvest we can easily keep our standard of payments, even if we have excess costs to deal with. If your people expect more, you'll have to disappoint them, I fear."

"Who?" Trahada again. 

Turning to face the Corellian woman, Jorka unlocked his arms and let them hang loosely at his side. "Ever heard of Jorji Car'das? He runs quite an extensive network, and for a share of this operation's profits he is supplying us with the necessary numbers."

Ushu gave another grunt. "Sounds acceptable. Car'das is a scoundrel, but he's honest."  


"Frankly, he's impressed with our past exploits," Alamys offered, aiming at placating both commanders. Trahada still looked too sceptic. "He also tried to goad me into revealing where we invested our credits, by the way," he added, grinning broadly. That brought a laugh from both the Gammorrean and the woman. 

"Honest, eh?" Trahada challenged her partner. "No doubt he was trying to find out where he could divide a little of our cash off into his own accounts."

"Possibly," Alamys said dismissively, when Ushu did not reply. "The important thing, though, is that he's helping us. Byrol and I are already working on an attack pattern and the logistics for both our teams and Car'das's. I thought we might be able to strike the convoy at Almania."

"Almania!" Ushu's heavy bulk left his seat at astonishing speed as the Gammorrean jumped up, shocked. "That's Republic space! You always insist that we keep our operations within our sector, Jorka! Why this sudden change?"

"Yes," Trahada chimed in, her eyes narrowed coldly. "Why?"

This was the difficult part, and Alamys was a little angry that his placating gesture had not worked out fully. "I had to meet Car'das half-way to enlist his people at all," he explained. "He doesn't want any trouble in the Corporate Sector. And the Republic won't dare enrage the Trade Federation by insisting on hunting pirates into their territory. We can deal with the Trade Federation here," he took a deep breath, "but we cannot deal with their convoy without Car'das."

Subsiding a bit, Ushu took his seat again. "He has a point," he conceded gruffly, but Trahada was still looking unconvinced.

"Risking the Republic's wrath might not be worth sharing our profits," she announced.

"What is the worst they can do?" Alamys challenged her then. "They could send neutral representatives to support the Trade Federation tracking us down. Jedi, at the worst."

"Jedi Knights," Trahada spat. "They're damn trouble, Jorka!"

"Leave them to me," he replied in a low voice, "if they come at all."

He notied the glance that passed between Trahada and her Gammorrean partner, of course, the insecurity and fear that played in their eyes, but he did not care. Neither of them knew what he had been, and neither of them cared to find out what he was now. They knew the tales from ancient times, of course, about Dark Side warriors and the Sith, but Alamys had never bothered to tell them the truth. He would not start now. 

And so it was that seven standard days later the _Narawa_ lay in wait at Almania, with the commander of the planet's pitiful security force bribed into silence and Jorji Car'das's team awaiting the Narawa pirates' command. Trahada was in charge of the cruiser's fighters, as always, with Ushu keeping an eye on the targeted convoy and their own unruly forces. Alamys had joined the Gammorrean on the ship's forward bridge, knowing that the Captain's tactical skills might not suffice for an operation that size. Alamys, as trained strategist, would only interfere if it was really necessary. He did not want to lose this crew yet, after all. Byrol was manning tactical, seated right in front of Alamys, who stood with his hands crossed on his back, waiting. The count-down was running, and in a few moments time the alarms would sound, alerting the ship's crew to battle-status. Their most difficult battle to date, Alamys mused. But the most effective, if all went well. Smiling to himself, he thought of a certain senator, who would have a lot of explaining to do when news of this coup reached the Trade Federation. 

And then the time was up.

"Attack," Captain Ushu ordered calmly, and the _Narawa_ obediently lurched forward, to take up her battle-position.

They were doing fairly well in the first few exchanges, with Car'das's ships still waiting to join them and surprise the Trade Federation vessels with their appearance. It was only when Ushu bent over the comm console to hail the other pirate group that the trouble began. "They aren't answering," the Gammorrean announced, bewildered, as he turned to face Alamys.

"Impossible." Wrapped in a flaring surge of anger Jorka stepped forward to try himself. There was no signal. "But they are still there," he murmured, looking at the scan read-outs. "Are we being jammed?"

"No signals from the Trade Federation ships," Byrol reported.

"What about other sources?" Alamys asked, frowning. There was something now, elusive. A dark taint on his perception, trying to smother his senses. He wouldn't, would he? No, surely not! It could not be Sidious out there! Whirling away from the dumb-founded Ushu and the patiently waiting Byrol, Alamys made for the exit of the bridge. "Scan that _Narawa's_ hull!" he called over his shoulder. "Have security search the ship! Now!"

"Are we being boarded?" Captain Ushu yelled at the Jedi Master's retreating form. 

But Alamys did not answer. Focusing his senses, fully aware of the risk that meant to his mental health, he stormed down the central corridor that led away from the bridge and toward the forward hangars. They would be empty now. Trahada had already taken her fighters out. Upon reaching the hangars, Alamys caught the arm of a flight coordinator, who was hurrying past. "You! When did the last fighters leave from this cluster?"

"A few moments ago," the man answered. "Why'd you ask?"

"And the magnetic field closes two minutes after launch, right?" 

"Yes. Is there a problem?" the man was looking worried now. 

  
"Could be," Jorka muttered, then let go of the coordinator. He turned his head when he heard someone approaching fast. It was Byrol. The Devaronian was carrying a heavy blaster rifle in both hands, and he seemed very determined. 

"I brought your saber too, boss," he told Alamys quietly, and nodded to his belt. Indeed. There hung the familiar cylinder shape of Alamys's lightsaber handle. Byrol was the only one present who knew a bit of his master's past. And yet Alamys found it hard to trust him fully. Until now.

"Thanks. Quick thinking on your part;" the former Jedi Master replied with a grim smile. "Now go back and summon security. I don't know what exactly happened, but chances are that we won't be getting any reinforcements. Just in case, tell Ushu to prepare for retreat." With those words, Alamys took the offered lightsaber and stalked toward the first hangar's door release. 

Entering the empty bay, Jorka threw a quick look around, keeping the lightsaber concealed at his side. As his gaze swept across the entire hangar, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. There was no – Wait. A shimmering in the air, as if from a cooling hull. Squinting, Alamys cocked his head to the side. It _could_ be a ship. Cloaked. Walking closer, the Jedi Master hunched his shoulders ever so slightly as his body tensed in anticipation of violence. There was the sound of a door opening in the distance, in the next hangar bay, and Alamys quickened his steps slightly. If whoever had landed a cloaked ship here had slipped out into the corridor, he would move toward the bridge first, Alamys assumed. He needed to intercept 

that someone, come what may. As it was, someone had had that same idea before him. When the first volley of blaster fire scorched the partition wall that separated the hangar's bays, Alamys instinctively ducked back, his heart thumping hard in his chest. 

Then, taking his lightsaber handle in a two-handed grip that would give him enough surety to make any attack with the weightless blade precise, he brought the weapon up in a high guard position in front of his left shoulder and carefully edged around the partition wall. The blaster was still spewing laser bolts, and Alamys had to take a deep breath before he entered the battle-field. Byrol, for it was the Devaronian, had entered the hangar through the second bay's entry hacth, possibly to assist Alamys in his hunt. While Jorka appreciated the Devaronian's loyalty, seeing his opponent up close caused him to give a heart-felt curse. The intruder was dressed in flowing black robes that were all too familiar, and a red lightsaber spun in his hands so fast that its blurring edge could shield the creature against anything Byrol's heavy rifle had to offer. The Sith warrior was not Sidious, as Alamys noted with some relief. He moved with a grace the Nubian never had possessed, and the soldier in the former Jedi Master recognised the superior skill this fighter displayed almost instantly. 

Chances were that he had already sensed Alamys' approach and would be reacting any time now. Someone had tried to dampen Jorka's senses earlier, which had to mean that this Sith Lord was acutely aware of who Alamys was. Indeed, by the time Alamys had taken the next few steps toward the two combatants in the second hangar bay, the black-robed attacker spun in a onehundredeighty degree angle that put him in position to keep an eye on both the Devaronian and the approaching Jedi. Yellow eyes, set into a black and red tattooed face, tracked Alamys' every move.

"Byrol, get out of here," Jorka snapped and ignited his own lightsaber. 

But, seeing his quarry distracted by Alamys' appearance, the Devaronian opened fire again. With a casual gesture of his gloved left hand, the Sith Lord sent the unlucky Byrol crashing into the bulkhead at his back. With a slow smile, exposing sharp teeth, the warrior then reached up to unclasp his long cloak to allow him more freedom of movement. Alamys gave him a contemptuous smirk, seemingly waiting for the other to ready himself. But this was no time for fair play. The moment the Sith Lord's fingers closed about the clasp Alamys lunged at him in an all-out attack that turned into a slide and duck movement once the Sith's lightsaber blade came up to skewer him. Using the slick deck to power his momentum, Alamys skidded past his opponent and managed a shallow cut to the Sith Lord's left thigh. It took him a moment to catch his balance again and turn back, though, and he was quite surprised by his adversary's speed when the man/creature met him readily, driving him back with a set of quick attacking jabs.

With his initial attack having left next to no impression, Alamys Jorka was forced to evaluate his opponent more closely. The creature was young, younger than he was, a superior swordsman, quick, ferocious, focused, and, what was worse, he could forsee any move Jorka made even before he could execute it. Frankly, things did not look too good. Meeting the horned alien's yellow-eyed gaze again, Alamys decided on a gamble. If the Force could be of no use, his experience would have to suffice. The Sith moved toward him again, his blade meeting Alamys' white one repeatedly, until Alamys twisted his lightsaber away in the last instant, catching his opponent off guard. By then they had reached the bulkhead, and the Sith's blade cut deeply into the metal, giving Alamys a brief opening to attack himself, with the other man half-turned away from him. 

He almost impaled himself on the second blade that sprang forward from the other end of the Sith Lord's lightsaber handle quite unexpectedly. 

Jumping back with a vivid curse, Alamys did not waste any time with reassessments. Once the Sith, a Zabrak, as he recalled the species was called, whirled to face him, Jorka ducked low in a crouching ready position, daring his adversary to strike. And that the Zabrak did, with Alamys methodically parrying the blades coming at him in rapid succession, drawing the Sith closer and still remaining low. When the Zabrak's left boot heel got caught in the deep gourges his own blades had ripped into the deck, Alamys almost laughed then, but his own situation had not been greatly altered by the younger man's blunder. Acting quickly, Jorka brought his lightsaber blade around in a wide arc, holing it with only his right hand, and managed to cut across his adversary's stomach. Unfortunately the Zabrak was unfazed by the inflicted wound and when he broke loose from the small obstacle presented by his caught boot-heel, let himself fall forward, thereby depriving Alamys of any room to maneuver with his weapon. In fact, though, Jorka had seen that reaction coming, if not so fast. When the Sith brought his arm around Alamys was reeling back even before the Zabrak's fist hit his shoulder and would have paralysed his side, had he managed to score a hit on the nerve cluster positioned there. 

Alamys let his lightsaber handle fly with an bit-off scream and twisted twisted his around its own axis, just as his opponent had intended it, and as the Jedi Master fell to his knees, using his hands to cushion his fall, he heard the Sith Lord's lightsaber humming behind him, rising steadily. He could picture his adversary's triumphant stance, blades raised above his head, ready to strike at the downed Jedi. Jorka's lightaber, carefully positioned so he was shielding its exact position with his torso, slid toward him as he gently coaxed it in his direction. The Sith's blade was descending in a loud roar of power at his back just as he locked the fingers of his right hand around his own weapon's handle. He turned just in time to deflect the red beam of light before it could sever his spine and killed his arm's forceful upward swing with his left hand, that came down hard on his right forearm. Then, kicking out his legs, Alamys swept the Zabrak off his feet and stabbed viciously into the alien's unprotected flank. The warrior instinctively curled around his injured side, allowing Jorka to rise and prepare himself anew.

"Your master should have known better than to send a mere child against me," he teased the Sith Lord, who was slowly climbing to his feet, one hand pressed to his scorched side, his tattooed face fixed into a mask of rage. This Zabrak could only be Sidious' apprentice. Who else would have cared to track him down?

It was then that Byrol had sufficiently recovered to interfere. Unfortunately his angry scream startled Alamys more than it did the Sith. The Devaronian shot forward with a predator's grace, scooped up the blaster rifle he had lost in the Sith's initial attack, and brought it up smartly to shoot the Sith warrior straight in the face as the Zabrak turned to meet him. Two things then happened at once. First, Byrol never made it, and instead found himself beheaded by one of the red blades, that came up quite unexpectedly, and second, a missile exploded against the _Narawa's_ side. Both Alamys and his adversary were thrown to the deck, each faring quite differently. While the Zabrak elegantly rolled around to face the outer hull on one knee, for balance as well as to be ready in case Alamys used this momentary distraction to attack, Jorka crashed against the partition wall and felt something crack in his right hipbone. Pain stabbed down his leg, cramping muscles and numbing them. He slid down to the deck, eyes closed in agony, and cursed his fate with a low oath. More impacts now, and, barely perceptible amidst the shaking of the ship and the low hum of the engines, the sound of approaching feet.

"No boy," the Zabrak said calmly, his voice surprisingly deep and measured. "A match for you, Master Jorka. You are an able warrior," he added, and Alamys thought he could hear admiration in the younger man's tone. Not that he cared.

"How did you find out about this operation?" Alamys asked between gritted teeth. The Sith 

was only a few steps away now, and, holding his hip – he just new part of the bone had splintered off and was now stuck in his flesh – tried to rise again. Almost immediately he found himself pushed back against the wall by an unseen force. 

Shrugging, the Zabrak actived one of his blades and stopped. "I knew your headquarters to be close to Weyla. It took only little effort to learn more about your pirates, and your plans."

"So you alerted the Republic."

The Sith nodded solemnly. "Your ships will be wiped out, and the praise will go to the Republic and my master, of course."

It was true. Alamys had counted on discrediting Sidious in front of the Trade Federation, but with a single blow the Sith Master had put his old nemesis out of the game. He would take credit, and gain the trust of his allies anew. "A pity," Alamys sighed, shoulders sagging. 

It took only that small gesture to convince the younger Sith that his prey was defeated, and in that moment the Jedi Master felt nothing but contempt for, yes, this boy. Mustering all of his reserves, Force-wise as well as physically, he launched himself at his opponent again, lightsaber flashing in his hands. Parry left, block right, step back and left, cut down, reverse and up, spin, strike. Yes! With his back to the Zabrak, Alamys felt his blade, thrust back above his injured hip, eat deeply into the Sith warrior's flesh. The young man cried out, then gave a loud moan of pain. Alamys did not hesitate. Whirling around to face the Sith again he struck once more – But his blade never found its mark. Instead of falling back with the injury, the Zabrak had stepped forward, and now stood so close he could easily catch Alamys' arm, drag it down and break it cleanly over his thigh. His elbow impacted against Alamys' left cheek and almost knocked him out before he was flung to the deck unceremoniously. Only then, with Alamys white-faced and rigid with pain, did the Zabrak allow himself to hunch over and take a laboured breath. He was hurt very badly, Alamys saw now, not that this discovery was of much use to him.

"You're not going to get away," the Sith panted, his yellow eyes blazing furiously. "The ship's going to blow, and you will perish with it."

Only belatedly did Alamys notice the desperate wail of the evacuation alarm, that filled the hangar with a loud siren song. If the Sith wanted to get away he'd need to leave imemdiately. Alamys wasted no time. Ignoring the mind.numbing pain in his broken arm and injured hip he turned on his stomach and started to crawl for the hangar door determinedly. Unfortunately the Sith used just that moment to deliver a vicious kick at the Jedi Master's head, and his world went dark instantly. By the time he came to the Sithw as gone and the _Narawa's_ alarms were blaring at full volume. But the ship was already out of control, and Alamys could guess easily that the cruiser's shields would fail anytime soon. Mustering all of his strength he hobbled toward the hangar door and barely made it inside before the hangar was hit by another missile and the containment field separating the bay from space imploded. The gravity controls were next to go off line, and Alamys suddenly found himself floating upside down in the ship's outer corridor. It took a supreme effort to grab one of the emergency holds in the ceiling and haul himself along the winding hallway with just one good arm, but he managed somehow. 

"Jorka!" It was Captain Ushu, a bleeding gash raked across his pig-like visage. He grabbed the Jedi Master's waist, causing Alamys to cough up painfully, and towed him along. "She's gonna go soon. Got to get to the escape pods."

But Alamys was barely conscious of the captain's valiant efforts to save them both. He was already wondering how exactly he would plan his payback for this disaster. Nothing as petty as attacking prospective allies and disrupting trade. No. This time it would be personal.


	20. Trapped

  
  
"Why?" Darth Sidious heaved an elaborate sigh. "The question is rather simple. And still you find it impossible to answer to my satisfaction. My orders were explicit. Kill the Jedi, wipe out his gang. You managed the latter, I will not deny that, but the primary objective was the death of Master Jorka. And you tell me that you assumed he would die along with his ship's crew? I warned you, apprentice. He is resourceful and disgustingly lucky. You were injured yes, injured badly, but all it would have taken was a stab or slash with your blade to finish him off." Dropping down on his haunches next to the quivering mess he had left of Maul, the Sith Master was smiling coldly. "It is rewarding to let your prey know it is dying, but not enough reward to risk letting them get away."   
  
Maul's golden eyes, blood-shot and raw with emotion, were gazing up at him. The Sith Master could sense the Zabrak's willingness to prove himself anew, the desire to try again and serve better. And yet, Darth Sidious had a feeling that Maul's past as a warrior, his code of honour and the vast reservoir of hatred that had been unlocked back on Iridonia, were preventing his apprentice from moving beyond rash decisions and actions. Though usually calm and composed on the outside, Maul was a roaring furnace of power and dark emotions locked in an equally powerful body. He had not yet learned discipline, after five years of training with Sidious. Briefly, the Sith Master remembered his own apprenticeship, first with Darth Nexus, then with Roj Kell. Well. Perhaps they both needed to try harder.   
  
Rising again, Sidious threw a last, disgusted glance at the Zabrak's bleeding form, then turned away. If he did not need the apprentice so badly he would have killed him, but unfortunately the time was not right. Sidious had been surprised at his own patience and self-restraint when Maul had come crawling back to him, close to dying and his motivation diminished. But sometimes clemency could be used as the chain to bind a servant closer to oneself. Old Kell had always insisted on what Sidious had thought foolishness only some years previous. Now, though, he understood the value of that lesson. Maul was grateful for another chance, and a little show of caring would boost that gratitude immensely. Maul was prepared to die for his master. Now all Sidious had to do was direct his apprentice's desire against the proper foe.   
  
"You need to recover," he said in a gentle tone, smiling benvolently to himself. "This was the first time you confronted a Jedi Master, and they are dangerous foes, no matter how debiliated. Perhaps you understand now why we were forced to hide after the disaster of Ruusan. Yes," he breathed, "we had to stand back and bide our time, but just as the glorious Darth Bane predicted, we are almost ready to reveal ourselves and strike back. Almost. Maul, my apprentice, you and I are so very lucky to be the ones to bring Bane's legacy to fruition. You and I." He turned to face the Zabrak once more, and found the younger man sitting upright, the fervour in his golden gaze infectious.   
  
"Yes, master," he pressed out between swollen lips, then lowered his head again, half-bowing. "I serve you."   
  
"Oh, I know that, Lord Maul. I know that you do." With those words, Darth Sidious strode from the room, beaming.   
  
He had already spoken to Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation and made it very clear that the Republic's interference had been only thanks to his intervention, and that the Narawa pirates' complete annihilation had been his idea as well. The Viceroy had been suitably impressed, and his plans in the Senate were moving along nicely. Already the issue of the taxation of trade routes was being hotly debated by all senators, and Sidious had another meeting scheduled with Count Dooku to lament the despicably inept handling of the situation on Supreme Chancellor Valorum's part. The count had had enough time to observe the Nubian senator, Sidious thought, and soon now they needed to come to an agreement. The Naboo affair he had planned so many years ago would certainly be of assistance in that regard.   
  
It was quite an easy gamble and it was also the first reward for the Trade Federation's dilligent support over the past. The exclusive treaty that would find Naboo bound to the Neimoidians for supplies and trade, and with the right spin Sidious would put on events, this would lead to all the corporate worlds flocking to his banner. Right now they were in Dooku's thrall, but once he had the count on his side, that would be changing. And once he had the economic power players within his influence, he could begin to dismantle the Jedi Order. For that he also had a plan ready, but what he did not need was Alamys Jorka snooping around, trying to sabotage his plans. And yet, on the other hand the Jedi Master's insistence was refreshing and somewhat challenging.   
  
Of course, that would not change the outcome of their little gamble.   
"The Federation ships are still not slowing their progress," Captain Panaka announced, sounding all too calm for Padmé's taste. Frowning at the sensor display in front of them, she was thinking hard of what to do.   
  
"You have tried to establish contact?" she asked at last.   
  
"Tried, Your Majesty, yes. No answer so far," the captain explained. "Shall I give the order for our pilots to establish a fighter screen?"   
  
Padmé gave him a scorning glance. "Captain. These are Trade Federation ships. Anything we have got won't stand a chance against their troops. We need to establish negotiations." She nodded at the display. "Try again. I would not be surprised if they were to contact us first, though."   
  
"Your Highness, where are you going?" he questioned then, concern plain in his voice, when she turned away.   
  
Looking back, Queen Amidala gave him her haughtiest stare. "Captain, whatever the Neimoidians are planning, I will need some time to think on the possibilities. Oh," she added, already turning away, "and I want a meeting with the Advisory Council, including Senator Palpatine. Make it quick."   
  
As she hurried from the palace's comm center, her dark purple robe sweeping across the marble tiles beneath her slippered feet and her five handmaidens flanking her, Padmé Amidala was already thinking hard on the implication sof what coudl only be a hostiel blockade of the Naboo system. She was aware, of course, of the current issues discussed in the Senate, Palpatine was dutifully keeping her informed, after all. But this was an outrage. All the more bitter the fact that the peaceful Naboo had no real chance of fending off the bold attack on the Neimoidians'spart themselves. They had a few pilots, yes, but until the Trade Federation had not made its intentions plain, she could not risk offending them by having her fighters launch. All volunteers, of course.   
  
Squashing the tiny voice of doubt, that nastily scolded her for her people's foolish notions of peace, the queen laid out her plans. First to uncover their intentions, then to respond. hey were most probably hostile, and her only defense then was the Galactic Senate to interfere on her planet's behalf. Palpatine then, was the key. Thank the stars that he was so adept a politician. If anyone could sway the Senate it would be him.   
  
"You Highness!" It was Sabé, her voice lowered cautiously, drawing the queen's attention to the presence of a woman, who stood gazing out over the central square of Theed in front of the palace gates. Almanda Dar. The former administrator and councillor seemed preoccupied, sad, and Padmé waved her handmaidens back as she approached her former rival.   
  
"Are you feeling well?" she asked bluntly, but kept her tone gentle. "How is your daughter?"   
  
A smile appeared on Almanda's stunning features, before she bent low in a formal curtsy. "Your Majesty," she said. "I thank you for your caring. My daughter is well, much to my joy," she told Padmé not without fondness.   
  
"And yourself?" the queen pressed on, careful to lower her voice for privacy.   
  
Almanda looked up quickly, her eyes dark and troubled. "As well as can be."   
  
"Senator Palpatine is a busy man. and he is conscious of his duties. I appreciate that in him very much," Padmé told the odler woman meaningfully, inviting an answer, but Almanda's face immediately locked down, and she rose.   
  
"Forgive me, Your Highness, but I would not know about that. If you allow it, I will retreat to my chambers again. I just came here for - the view." A vague gesture encompassed the square below, and Padmé nodded in understanding.   
  
Almanda had worked very hard for her ultimate goal, to become queen, and had been deprived of her triumph by a cruel twist of fate, if one were to name the delightful child she called her own that. Padmé would not deny her her daydreams. "I understand. You are released, of course," she explained softly.   
  
Almanda turned away gratefully and slowly walked away, as if deep in contemplation. The young queen did not envy the older woman her situation at all. To be a mother, but not have a father for the child must be very hard. Then the sound of bootsteps caused her to look up in alarm, but she quickly saw that it was only Panaka, running to join them.   
  
"Your Highness!" he exclaimed. "A message is coming in!"   
  
Looking from him to Sabé, she nodded in acceptance, then made her way back to the comm center. The message, as it turned out, was a threat and a demand. She read it once, twice, growing angrier by the minute. Then, at last, she looked up to gaze at Panaka. "This is inacceptable," she announced coldly. "I wish to confer with Senator Palpatine, and the Supreme Chancellor. At once."   
Cos Palpatine was hardly surprised when the call came in from Naboo. he had been expecting this, if not thr all too calm manner in which Queen Amidala reacted to the impending invasion of their home world. Her face framed by an elaborate head-dress and painted a pure white, safe for a few decorative ornaments, she looked regal and cool, not like a fourteen year old girl at all. But then, wasn't he a master of deception himself? Could he not read the worry behind her calm mask of of royal wisdom? He knew that she feared, knew it in his bones. And yet he was anxious to play his own role, that of the totally surprised representative, who would do everything in his power to restore order and secure help. Even though he had no intention of doing either, of course.   
"I have taken the liberty of informing Chancellor Valorum of this outrage," she told him, her first words after describing the crisis, in fact, and suddenly Sidious understood that she was indeed calm and composed. Or else a better actress than he had ever seen on Naboo's throne before.   
  
"The Chancellor?" he sputtered, but caught himself immediately, nodding eagerly. "A good choice, Your Highness. The chancellor will certainly support us. And I will see to it that this affair is discussed in the Senate immediately!" he promised.   
  
The girl-queen gave a generous nod of approval. "Senator Palpatine, I trust your supreme wisdom to mobilize the Senate for our cause. The Trade Federation has no right to legally bloackade a peaceful planet without any provocation. They even dare to demand the signing of a foolish treaty to gain them access to our system and circumvent the taxation of trade routes by using our own seperately brokered trade routes."   
  
The child was clever, no doubt about it. "Your Highness," he began soothingly, raising his hands in a placating gesture, "surely the Trade Federation is acting rashly. This unfortunate incident will be resolved quickly, I expect. Please, trust me and leave thsi to me. I will speak in the Senate and make the representatives of the Trade Federation see reason. With the chancellor to aid us, we will be safe."   
  
"I trust you, Senator," Amidala told him then, her dark eyes never wavering. "And the chancellor. But I must ask you to hurry. We are in no position to fight off an invasion."   
  
"Yes, Your Highness, I am aware of that," Palpatine replied sadly. Oh, didn't he know all too well! "I will begin working on this problem right away."   
  
"See to it."   
  
Once her image had dissolved, he rubbed his hands gleefully, smiling. Clever she might be, but too trusting. And now, he needed to speak to Mas Amedda. At once.   
It had not his first mission as ambassador for the Republic, but his first secret one. Supreme Chancellor Valorum had insisted that their destination be kept secret, that no public announcement accompany their departure. Only the Nubian Senator, Cos Palpatine, knew of their leaving, apart from the Jedi Council, of course. To Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn this secrecy had been understandable. Issues being discussed in the Senate at present might taint the negotiations they were being sent on, if their efforts were to be made public and embarrass the Trade Federation. In truth, though, Qui-Gon could not have cared less. Anyone, in his opinion, who erected a blockade against a peaceful world deserved embarrassment, and worse. He had told Yoda just that, and been scolded for his brashness.   
  
His apprentice, as always, had agreed with the ancient Jedi Master.   
  
Qui-Gon heaved a tiny sigh in remembrance. There was not much in his mentor's entire life that found Obi-Wan Kenobi's approval. The young man had an inquisitive mind, and he was questioning everything, except the decisions of the Jedi Council. Sometimes his single-mindedness brought Qui-Gon close to despair. Obi-Wan was always focused ahead, with little regard for his current situation. It had caused his teacher many a sleepless night, during which he had tried to find ways to make his Padawan see the truth of living the moment. But on this mission there would be little chance for Obi-Wan to focus on anything but the present. Or so he had thought.   
  
Days after their arrival at Naboo, and the surprising turn of events that had accompanied it, he now found himself on a back porch, leaning against the small partition wall that marked the Skywalker family's backyard lot on Tatooine. He was watching little Anakin burying deeply into the innards of his pod-racer, prepping it for the upcoming race. A very important one, especially for the impatiently waiting queen back at their downed ship. All their hopes now rested on the boy's ability to win this contest tomorrow. If he did not win, then Qui-Gon needed to come up with a more drastic solution. Not something he would prefer. So he stood here, watching the boy, and observing him closely. The handmaiden, Padmé, and the Gungan Jar-Jar Binks were assisting the boy, but it was clear that he needed little help. He was a wizard when it came to mechanics, his mother had confirmed it, and there was far more to him than met the eye at first sight. The boy was special, there was no doubt about it.   
  
It had been inevitable, that Obi-Wan disapproved of the Jedi Master's gamble concerning the boy, and Qui-Gon was actually glad, that he had left his Padawan with the rest of their company. A commotion by his side announced Shmi Skywalker, and he saw her worn features light up as her eyes came to rest on her son.   
  
"You should be proud of your son," he commented, "He gives without any thought of reward."   
  
"I know," she replied with a somewhat ironic smile. "What else is there for a slave to expect? And I am proud," she added, taking the sting out of her rebuke. "and glad to have him."   
  
Suitably chastised, Qui-Gon averted his eyes briefly. "I am sorry," he said at last. "It must have appeared as if I were questioning your feelings. It must have been hard for you to raise him alone, especially when he was little."   
  
Shmi shook her head slowly. "Not at all. He was an easy child, always. He is special, in his own way, and knows people as well as he knows machinery. He is sensitive, and he has - "   
  
She hesitated, and Qui-Gon felt prompted to finish the sentence for her.   
  
"He has special powers," he explained. "He sees things before they happen, which is why he appears to have such quick reflexes. It is a Jedi trait."   
  
Seemingly startled, the woman looked up at the Jedi Master, her eyes wide. "Jedi," she breathed, as if suddenly realizing something.   
  
"If I may ask," Qui-Gon proceeded, folding his hands in front of him, "who was his father?"   
  
"I - " she hesitated, then looked away. "There was no father," she said all too quickly. "I raised him alone."   
  
"But surely, there must have been someone," the Jedi Master pressed her gently. The expression on her face when he had mentioned that her son carried the traits of a Jedi, there had been something he thought was hope. Or revelation. "Was he sold? Did he die before the boy was born?"   
  
Shmi raised her hand to her mouth, obviously agitated. "I think I did not want to remember, because he left me alone," she confessed softly. "I could not even recall his name until a few weeks ago. As if I had banished his presence from my mind. I don't - "   
  
"If this is too difficult for you," Qui.-Gon assured her hastily, sensing that he was approaching a deep morass of emotions and not wishing to remind her of some gloomy event in the past.   
  
But Shmi shook her head and smiled at him brightly. "Oh no, nothing like that, Master Qui-Gon. He just -- left."   
  
"Do you know his name?" he asked again, quietly this time.   
  
"Alamys," she said. "He came from Tatooine."   
  
"Alamys!" Overwhelmed with shock, the Jedi Master turned away, and his eyes found the boy again, who was still working away at the pod racer, his blond bangs hanging deeply into his blue eyes without his noticing. Alamys Jorka! It could not be! But then gentle fingers closed around his arm, drawing him back into reality.   
  
"You know him?" Shmi's voice was trembling, her green eyes filled with longing.   
  
Qui-Gon took a deep breath, then nodded. "I believe I may indeed know him. A tall man, lean, with blond, slightly curly hair and blue eyes." She nodded eagerly as he continued. "A Jedi Master from Tyreena. His name was Alamys Jorka."   
  
Her face fell. "Was? He is - gone now?"   
  
"I am sorry," Qui-Gon told her then, "but he died over nine years ago. It must have happened shortly after you conceived the boy."   
  
"Dead," she repeated, her voice hollow, her eyes focusing into the distance.   
  
They were silent for a long time, each pursuing his or her own thoughts. Qui-Gon felt as stunned as Shmi Skywalker must be feeling. Alamys Jorka's on! He could not believe it yet. It would explain so much ... The Jedi Master was gripped in a fit of enthusiastic exhiliaration. He needed to take the boy to Coruscant. If he was truly Alamys' son, his potential would be immense. And he would need training. Master Yoda would surely approve of having his former student's offspring trained, even if he was a bit old. His enthusiasm died abruptlx, when he remembered his last encounter with the late Alamys Jorka. The Jedi Master had been mired in darkness, a cold, soulless creature of the Dark Side. Had he been infected already when he had been with the boy's mother? How much of the father really was there in the son? Qui-Gon had told Yoda of that last meeting, acutely aware of the ancient master's warnings and misgivings about Jorka's path. Could he even reveal the boy's parentage, if he wanted him to be trained? He feared not.   
  
"Shmi," he said slowly, laying his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes locked on his, her gaze resigned. "If you approve, I will do anything I can to take your son to Coruscant, and have him trained as a Jedi there."   
  
"He deserves better than a slave's life," she whispered, and tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. "And you knew his father," she continued softly. "I want you to tell him everything you know of him. I never could, and I know he missed him. Still does. If you could help him, I would be very grateful."   
  
He nodded then. "I will do anything in my power, I promise. He will have the life he deserves. Free, and true to his calling. He will be a great Jedi, like his father was." A small lie, that, but that did not matter. All that mattered was the boy.   
It had been a miracle. Truly a miracle. Anakin had won the race, despite everything, just as he had promised, and thus won them their freedom. It was still too early for her to appreciate all that he had done for them, she could not yet allow herself to feel anything. First, she had to make certain that her people, too, would be safe. Still dressed in the outfit of a royal handmaiden, Padmé Amidala Naberrie walked into the quiet comm center of the light Nubian cruiser, where she knew a message was waiting for her. Calling the file up, she listened to Sio Bibble's words in silence, registering them with a numb heart. Her people were suffering. She had to do something fast. And all her hopes were focused on Coruscant. With Supreme Chancellor Valorum to aid them, and Senator Palpatine to secure allies in their cause, they simply had to bring the Trade Federation around to seeing reason.   
  
She did not know what alerted her to his presence, but something made her turn her head, and there he was. The hero of the day. With a smile, Padmé walked over to where little Anakin Skywalker was crouched on a rec couch, obviously trying to sleep, and failing miserably. He was crying silently, and she sensed that he was troubled by more than only missing his mother.   
  
"Are you all right, Annie?" she asked, feeling horribly clumsy. Of course he was not all right!   
  
"It's very cold," he managed, hunching his shoulders.   
  
Wordlessly, Padmé removed her thick overjacket and put it around his shoulders. "Space is cold," she told him gently. "Better?"   
  
He wiped away another tear and nodded bravely. "You seem sad."   
  
She almost smiled at that, watching him so valiantly fight his own tears and still having the insight to observe her own grief. A remarkable boy, surely. Worthy of her confidence, perhaps. "The queen is worried," she explained. "Her people are suffering, dying. She must convince the Senate to intervene. Or - " breaking off, she almost shied away from his eyes, wondering if he was even aware of their intensity. There was definitely something about the boy, making her close off her heart once more. The look of hurt that crossed his face at her apparent rejection pained her too, nevertheless.   
  
Suddenly, though, he seemed to remember something, and pushed around in his pockets, until he found whatever it was he was looking for and brought it up before her eyes. "Here. I made this for you," he said timidly. "So you'd remember me by." It was a carved pendant, made of japor, if she was any judge. "Take it. Perhaps it'll bring you luck," he added softly.   
  
Delicately, she took the pendant in her hand, studying it intently. Funny, that, but the carvings somehow reminded her of Tyreenese runes. She raised the leather throng and hung it about her neck, smiling. "Thank you. It is beautiful. But I won't need this to remember you by," she added, sincere. His expression was so full of hope and trust, that she was uncomfortably reminded of what might happen on Coruscant. He thought he had found a friend in her, and had, she would not deny it, but - "When we reach Coruscant, Annie, many things will change. My caring for you will not," she told him gravely.   
  
He gazed at her for a long time, as if to decipher the meaning behind her words. Such inquisitive eyes. They were - disturbing, somehow. "I know," he replied at last. "And I won't stop caring for you either. Only, I miss - "   
  
"Your mother, hm?" Her smile returning, Padmé leaned over to hug the boy tight. She thoughts he knew what he was feeling. When she had first left home, all by herself, she had been even younger than Anakin. And she could also understand his tears as he cried himself to sleep against her shoulder. She did not mind. Holding him close, she shut her eyes, thinking of nothing for once.   
She was here! What in Sith's hells was she doing here of all places? Fuming, Darth Sidious threw on his official wardrobe to welcome his queen, as was proper. She should not even have been able to leave Tatooine! With a soft growl and a silent vow of making Maul see the error of his ways yet, the Sith Master stalked from his chambers, and immediately his demeanour changed. His stride was dignified and measured, his posture slightly slouched, an elderly administrator, his shoulders weighed down by too many tasks and duties, his expression one of tired helpfulness. Not one of the pompous fools that made up the majority of the Galactic Senate, but someone who exuded quiet competence. Good, good. He could play this game even here. Had been playing it for years right under the Jedi's noses, in fact. No mere chit of a girl would cross his plans now.   
  
Making his way over to the prescribed landing platform, he mulled over the implications of Queen Amidala's arrival, and his anger reignited as he thought of that damn Nute Gunray, who had lied to him about the queen, and all in all seemed as incompetent and uninspired as the rest of his sorry bunch. Unfortunately he still had need of the Neimoidians. And better to have dim-witted allies than none at all, or worse, allies who were cleverer than oneself was. Such as Count Dooku. But that one would be finally ripe for the taking once this affair was done with. No reason to worry. Stepping onto the platform, he saw that the Supreme Chancellor was already arriving. His shuttle had docked at one side of the platform already, and there was the Nubian cruiser that was bringing the queen to Coruscant. Excellent. It seemed he would have the honour of welcoming them both. Chancellor Valorum was first to disembark, and after some pleasantries had been exchanges the two men were waiting patiently for the Nubian starship to dock safely. Finally the landing ramp was lowered, and the procession of Nubians filed out in good order.   
  
The queen, dressed in black, as befitting the situation, was in the lead, with her handmaidens behind her, arranged in rows of two. Ah, he knew their little game, of course, and his eyes flicked only briefly to the girl standing at the queen's left shoulder. Did she think herself safe in that disguise? Well, not for long. With a bright smile, Sidious bowed to the queen and her retinue once they had joined the two waiting men. He was acutely aware of the two Jedi standing a bit further apart. The ambassadors Valorum had sent. They were back, and, unfortunately, still alive. Nute Gunray would indeed pay for this.   
  
"Your Majesty, it is a gift to see you alive and well," Sidious said, "and so soon." Straightening again, he indicated the tall, white-haired man by his side. "May I present Supreme Chancellor Valorum. You have not met him yet, I know."   
  
"Welcome, Your Highness," Valorum said, on cue, his strong voice belying the weariness in his eyes. "It is an honor to finally meet you in person. I have called a special session of the senate to discuss your request at once. I understand your distress, Your Majesty. We will do everything we can to see this affair resolved to everyone's satisfaction."   
  
"Thank you, Supreme Chancellor," the queen replied dutifully. "The unprovoked invasion and occupation of my peaceful world is indeed distressful. I am grateful for your concern."   
  
"Then, if you may follow me," Valorum offered, "I assume you will want to confer with your senate representative before we begin the senate session."   
  
"Indeed," she answered, and, flanked by the two men, started for the far end of the platform, where another shuttle had been prepared to take them to the ambassadorial complex of Coruscant City, only a few blocks away.   
  
Once inside the air shuttle Sidious used the opportunity to survey their companions. The two Jedi Knights had remained behind to join Valorum, and to report to the Jedi Council, undoubtedly. That left the queen, her bodyguard and handmaidens, a Gungan and a small human boy. What was a child doing with them? Turning away, he almost shook his head in exasperation, but then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the boy scooting over to one of the handmaidens, the real queen, he saw, and whisper something to her. She smiled, then retrieved what looked like a pendant from the recesses of her robes and showed it off to the boy, who gave an approving nod. A gift? How much did the child know? Very strange. And something he should investigate, if time permitted. But first things first.   
  
This senate meeting was his chance to change the game somewhat. It was, he thought, actually a fortune to have the queen here in person. That way he would not be the one who would have to call for a vote of no confidence, as would have been the case had things turned out differently. All the better.   
During the entire report both he and Obi-Wan were giving to the Jedi Council, both on the situation on Naboo as well as on the mysterious creature who had attacked Qui-Gon on Tatooine, the Jedi Master had been thinking hard about choices. Years ago a friend of Crion's, Blithe Arkad, had told him that he should follow his heart and his convictions, and Qui-Gon had found that this directive served his conscience very well. His Padawan might not approve, or the Jedi Council, but he was at peace with himself, and that was all that mattered for a Jedi Master. And right now his heart told him that he had to pose a request to the Council now, before it was too late. Anakin Skywalker was Alamys' son, there was no doubt about it. He had checked the sample he had taken from the boy's blood to get a read on the midichlorian count - which was astounding! - against the Jedi Temple's database. There had been only a single match: Alamys Jorka.   
  
Though Jinn had vowed to himself not to reveal the boy's parentage, for fear of having Anakin cheated out of a happier life even before he had even had a chance to begin it, there was no reason not to train the boy. His potential made it imperative, even. So he asked. And was - as expected - almost instantly confronted with the Jedi Council's hostility. But at least he had managed to get them to test the boy. Surely then they must agree with him!   
  
As it turned out, though, the Council was of a different opinion than he was. They refused to have the boy trained. Only on Qui-Gon's insistence did they at least promise to reconsider the boy's fate. And Mace Windu was right: first they needed to resolve the mystery surrounding the queen's attacker. And since Amidala had decided to return to her home planet, both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan would be accompanying her, along with Jar-Jar and - of course - little Anakin.   
  
Upon their return to Naboo, which had not been without risks, he had found out that he was not the only one keeping secrets. It had astonished not only him how Padmé Amidala had been able to fool both him and his Padawan. The young queen was clever, and an adept strategist and politician. Impressive. And now, as they waited for their scouts to return from Theed, and the Gungan army to assemble, Qui-Gon Jinn had a feeling that not all was lost yet. With some luck they'd be able to draw out the Sith creature and defeat even the mighty Trade Federation ships orbiting the planet.   
  
"Master." It was Obi-Wan, who walked up cautiously to the older man, looking worried.   
  
His reluctance surprised Qui-Gon somewhat. After all, they had made their peace once more, had they not? "What is it, my apprentice?"   
  
"There is - " The young man hesitated, cleared his throat. "You told me to focus on the living Force, on the present, Master. There is something, a disturbance, I believe. The Sith Lord, maybe?"   
  
"Possibly," Qui-Gon agreed. The creature had been privy to information that should have been unknown, had found them on Tatooine when no one was supposed to know where they were. It seemed only reasonable to assume that he would be coming to Naboo to confront his quarry again, now that the queen had returned. "Together," he continued, "we will surely prevail. He is quick, though. We must be careful."   
  
Obi-Wan gave a thoughtful nod. "Yes, I shall be careful."   
  
"And keep an eye on the boy," Jinn added sternly, prompting his Padawan to sigh deeply.   
  
"If you say so, Master."   
  
This time it was Qui-Gon's turn to grin at his apprentice's dismal face. "Don't worry. The Force is with us," the Jedi Master intoned gravely. "And now let us see what our precious queen has planned for us."   
It had been an easy feat to slip past the outer perimeter of Trade Federation ships in all teh confusion caused by the Nubian cruiser that had entered the system before him. Now, having landed his ship in the swamps and concealed it with twigs and branches, Alamys Jorka was hurrying toward the distant city of Theed. The magnificent palace was visible even in the morning haze, a gleaming brilliance that spoke of nobility and elegance. Not that it had been of much use to the planet's inhabitants once the Trade Federation had made their threat come true and invaded this peaceful world. The former Jedi Master thought he now understood that this was part of Sidious' grander scheme, that the attack on his home planet was well-planned. Unfortunately he had failed to eliminate a few minor vulnerabilities. Unfortunate for him, that was. Alamys was smiling to himself, a feral smile that befitted his predatory gait as he stalked across the plains, driven by determination more than reason. It did not matter when he arrived in Theed. All that mattered was that he would find his quarry there.   
  
To the left the sound of distant thunder signaled a battle taking place, which surprised him somewhat. As far as he knew the Naboo's defenses were harmless, at least to an army as well equipped as the trade Federation's was. But then, the Nubians would be fools if they relied on diplomacy only. To survive as pacifists, they needed to secure powerful allies, and that truly was a contradiction to their openly displayed political stance and the emphasis they put on their souvereignty. To be souvereign, one needed more than adept politicians. Loping closer toward the city, Alamys estimated that he would reach Theed in the late evening, or the next morning. He could not move as fast as he once would have been able to. His age and injuries hampered him immensely, and yet, the rage and indignation burning in his heart and mind were empowering enough. He would get there eventually. That was all that mattered.   
The battle of Naboo ended with the capture of the Trade Federation's viceroy and the destruction of the droid control ship high above the planet, executed by one single pilot: Anakin Skywalker. Thrilled as she was by the outcome of this gamble, Padmé Amidala Naberrie was given no chance to rejoice. Into her preparations of arranging her citizens' return form the detention camps the Trade Federation had put them into, the news of Qui-Gon Jinn's death was carried by a very somber Obi-Wan Kenobi. The young Jedi seemed close to tears, and was escorted by a very worried looking Panaka.   
  
"Your Majesty, I have taken the liberty of contacting the Jedi Council over this," Obi-Wan explained softly. "They will be arriving in two days' time. If it is possible ... " he paused. "They would like to be present at the funeral. Is there any way to - preserve the body?"   
  
Taken in by his open grief, the queen walked forward to embrace him carefully. "Dear friend, never worry about doing anything wrong, here in this palace. Whatever aid we can lend you will receive. We will help you arrange the funeral, of course. Master Qui-Gon will be honored as what he was: a hero." She stepped back again, her expression grave.   
  
"Thank you," Obi-Wan replied with a small bow. "I appreciate your concern. I will leave, if I am permitted. There is a lot to prepare. And Anakin needs someone to look after him."   
  
"Another hero," Captain Panaka announced with a smile that was echoed on Padmé's lips.   
  
"Indeed. Without the three of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, my people would still be endangered, and the Gungans, our valiant defenders, slain in gruesome battle," she said gently. "We owe you all whatever we can give."   
  
"We are indebted to you," Panaka repeated solemnly. "Please, tell me what you need, and I will supply it," he promised, then carefully put a hand on the Jedi 's shoulder.   
  
"Let's go, yes," Obi-Wan replied with a nod. The two men left together, leaving Padmé very thoughtful.   
  
Beside her, Sabé stirred. "Your Highness," her bodyguard said, "we must consider the consequences of this battle. We were forced to reveal our deception concerning the queen's identity."   
  
"Obi-Wan Kenobi certainly will not betray us," Padmé cut in coldly. "What are you thinking?"   
  
"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I am simply doing my work," Sabé retorted somewhat indignantly. "We should be changing the pattern, modify it, at least."   
  
Padmé sighed. "We will do that, if you insist. But first I must prepare my people's homecoming. And speak to Senator Palpatine," she added, hope flaring in her heart. He had been running in the elections of becoming Chancellor Valorum's successor, and the election outcome had to be publicised any day now. Imagine, if he were to win! Together, they would be able to begin a true reform of the Republic, so badly needed, as had become evident in the discussion surrounding her world's plight. Never again, she vowed, was this to happen to her people again.   
  
"Your Majesty?"   
  
Looking up in bewilderment, but hiding it behind a cool mask she always wore when not alone with her handmaidens or friends, the queen gazed at the woman standing in the doorway , failing to recognise her at first. She was dressed in ragged grey robes, and a baby was propped on her hips, making her look much like a farmer's wife. Yet her stance, defiant and proud, made that impossible.   
  
"Almanda Dar," Padmé said at last, a smile appearing on her face as she strode toward the older woman. "Your are alive! And your daughter!" She tickled the baby girl's chin, unable to resist the child's charm. "You were on the first transport?" she inquired further, still smiling. Nodding, Almanda shifted her grip on the girl, then cast a hopeful glance at the comm installed in the desk in front of the queen's throne. Catching her eye, Padmé smiled more deeply. "I am certain that Senator Palpatine will be overjoyed at the news."   
  
"Possibly," Almanda replied with a mirthless smile and cold eyes. "He never seemed to care so far, though."   
  
Ignoring her bitter comment, Padmé gestured for Sabé to join them. "You will be staying in the palace," she announced graciously. "I insist. Sabé," the queen continued, directly addressing her bodyguard. "Will you see to settling Almanda and her daughter? Thank you." That dismissal left her finally alone, or as alone as she ever could be. But instead of gaining some respite, she was surprised to find another visitor crossing the threshold of her office shortly after Almanda and Sabé had left. Anakin. "I thought you were with Obi-Wan?" she mused aloud, smiling.   
  
The boy approached her tentatively, silent terror in his eyes. "I wanted to be with you," he explained.   
  
To her own mild horror, Padmé realised that he was seeing her as something of a replacement for his mother, as long as Shmi could not be with him. Perhaps, with Qui-Gon dead, he truly did feel lost. Padmé never had had the feeling that Obi-Wan entirely approved of little Anakin. "Come here," she offered, and sat down on her throne." He shuffled closer, until she could reach out and tousle his hair. "Are you all right, Annie? You were so very brave, flying out there all by yourself. So very brave. A hero," she added, amused at his suddenly beaming face. But then his expression turned grave again.   
  
"Qui-Gon is dead," he whispered softly. "He's gone."   
  
"Oh, Annie," she sighed, then wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I know. I am so sorry. He was your friend, wasn't he?"   
  
"Yes," Anakin sniffled amidst hot tears of grief.   
  
"But Obi-Wan will take good care of you, I know," she assured him. "Ah, Sabé," she said, as she became aware of her bodyguard's return. "Any news?"   
  
Sabé was smiling broadly. "Indeed. The election results are up, and we were informed instantly. Cos Palpatine is new Supreme Chancellor."   
  
Padmé wanted to scream with joy, but she only permitted herself an indulgent smile. "very good news indeed. "He will be coming here?"   
  
"With the Jedi Council," Sabé confirmed.   
  
"Excellent." Rising from her seat, Padmé was already thinking about what she needed to discuss with the new Supreme Chancellor. First to punish the Trade Federation, of course. Then to modify the law that had sparked all this trouble. She was confident that in the light of what had passed on Naboo the Senate would be open to reconsidering the taxation of trade routes. So much to prepare! Lost in thought, she never saw the expression on the face of the little boy she had left standing alone beside her empty throne.   
Finding the right set of rooms had been easier than anticipated. He simply had had to follow his quarry through the bright, beautiful hallways of the palace of Theed, keeping close to the shadows, very conscious of the mind that walked beside the woman he sought. A bodyguard, a warrior. But the guard retreated once she had shown the woman and her baby to the rooms prepared for them, leaving him free reign to do what he had come for. With a very cold smile, Alamys Jorka slipped across the corridor and into the quarters given to Almanda Dar, before the door could fully close. He stood in the outer hallway for a few moments to orientate himself. Two rooms, a bed-room and a sitting-room. A fresher and a walk-in closet. Almanda Dar had vanished into the bedroom, then returned, without the baby. He saw her hesitate in front of the entrance to the fresher, then watched her walk into the sitting-room instead. Alamys followed her silently, a predator stalking his prey.   
  
She never noticed him. Opening the double doors to the balcony wide she breathed in deeply, and a sigh wrought itself from her lips. Alamys, standing right behind her, was still smiling. He knew he would not be visible from either above, nor below or the sides and it would be so easy to make this look like an accident. Not his preference, but in this case he was given little choice. At last Almanda became aware of his presence and whirled around, her face pale, her eyes filled with fear. Alamys did not know what it was she was seeing then, but her mouth opened to scream, forcing him to act at once.   
  
"Safe journey," he hissed, before his arm caught her full across the chest, flinging her light body against the balcony's heavy railing, her momentum dragging her over the stone ornaments easily. She vanished out of sight with a scream, and Alamys quickly turned back into the sitting-room to finish his task. Almanda was not so very important, her death simply a necessity. It was the child that Sidious would hurt to lose. His legacy. The baby-girl, a cute blond child of perhaps nine months of age, turned huge blue eyes on the stranger who entered the bedroom shortly after she had heard her mother scream. Shying back from Alamys she began to cry instantly. A cute child, truly. A pity Palpatine had never seen her. Would it lessen his grief? Possibly. Reaching out for the baby, Alamys Jorka was annoyed to realise that his plan for revenge might not be as effective as it had seemed when fist conceived. Would the death of his former lover and his child truly serve to wound the Sith Master in the degree Alamys wished to hurt him?   
  
Disgusted with himself, the former Jedi Master stepped back from the bed the baby was perched on, and shook his head. Sidious probably would not even care! Very well. He turned away, leaving the wailing baby, and strode toward the door. The woman's fall might not even spark much comment. And Sidious would not suspect what had almost happened. A pity, truly. But there had to be another way to cripple the Sith Lord and to defeat him at last.   
  
But there was!   
  
He almost laughed out loud. His own son, of course! Shaking his head in grim amusement, he walked out of the quarters and was just in time to evade the security forces who must have noted the lady Almanda's fall and were now hurrying to investigate.   
  
Time to leave.   
_Be your own master_, his mentor had once told him, and only now, that the fruits of yearlong labors were beginning to ripen, did he fully understand, what Roj Kell had meant by that. Only by relying on his own skills, by controlling his environment and his own emotions, could he succeed in his scheme. And now the first step to a grander destiny had been taken, leaving him even more room to operate. As Supreme Chancellor of the Republic he had more possibilities, others than he had previously had, but just as valuable, if not even more precious.   
  
While the loss of Lord Maul was somewhat inconvenient, despite his apprentice's many failings in the past, the Sith Lord had nevertheless managed to dispose of Qui-Gon Jinn. And that was indeed very important regarding a very special boy. According to Sidious' information, Qui-Gon Jinn had been the only one who knew of Anakin Skywalker's parentage, apart from the Sith Master himself now. And Jinn was dead, which meant that Sidious was now the only one privy to that secret. Alamys Jorka's son, with an immense Force potential, undoubtedly a gift by his father. His old nemesis had given up the Force, he had been right in that regard, but Alamys had been even more desperate than that. To cast his hopes into a child, so vulnerable to temptation, so innocent - ah, a risk that was too great to take, for anyone.   
  
While Sidious himself had had a similar idea to ensure his legacy, he had never relied on only that one possibility. His daughter, as it had turned out, had not inherited her father's strength in the Force. He might have use of her yet, but for now she was an annoyance, no more. His secretary, Shya Kee, would be taking care of the child until she was old enough to be moved to Coruscant for further education and training. For now, though, Sidious had quite a different instrument at his disposal: the all too clever and all too trusting queen of Naboo. Padmé Amidala had contacted him herself to tell him of Almanda's regrettable death. In fact, Sidious had briefly mused about the implications of his lover's fall. Had her bitterness over her lost chance in the elections for the post as queen been rekindled by her moving into the palace at Amidala's orders? Unlikely. Almanda may have been competitive and ambitious, but a fighter too. She would not have taken the coward's way out. And what if it had not been suicide, but an accident? Or even murder?   
  
"Your Excellency," his new aide told him softly, "we are arrived."   
  
Looking up, the Supreme Chancellor smiled. "Ah. At last," he offered, and rose from his seat aboard the Republic shuttle which had taken them down here to the planet's surface. He nodded toward the distinguished beings - fools all of them - who already stood in the front, and were now waiting for him to join them at the landing ramp. A reception committee was awaiting them, the queen herself, garbed in an expensive looking robe, Obi-Wan Kenobi, the late Master Jinn's Padawan - and the boy. There were more people assemble din the square in front of the Theed palace's grand staircase, but these three were those that mattered.   
  
"Congratulations on your victory, Supreme Chancellor," the queen greeted him amiably as he walked down to join her and her retinue.   
  
Feeling generous, he waved her praise aside, then said, "Ah, but your battle was far the grander, Your Majesty. Such cunning! Truly astounding." He took her hands in his briefly, and smiled at her beaming face. "Together, my dear, we shall bring peace and prosperity back to the Republic."   
  
"It will be so," she whispered, with determination.   
  
Nodding at her resolve, he released her again and turned toward the young Jedi by her side. "Obi-Wan Kenobi. We are indebted to you and your sadly deceased master, the revered Qui-Gon Jinn."   
  
"Thank you, Chancellor. It was my duty," the Jedi replied with a bow.   
  
"And you, Anakin Skywalker," Darth Sidious said, his mind filled with dark satisfaction, as he ran his hand through the boy's blond hair. "We will be watching your career with particular interest."   
A few days later the people of Naboo had assembled to celebrate their new-found freedom together, and to honour the warriors who had fought for their cause, who had died and triumphed in the battle that had won back their home. It was a grand parade, with music and laughter to accompany the procession, and never before had the joy been so infectious. Standing on the top of the white marble staircase leading up to the royal palace of Theed, Queen Amidala of the Naboo was resplendent and beautiful in her white ceremonial dress, a symbol of peace, as she was heralded throughout the Republic. By her side the Gungan leader, Boss Nass, wore a very satisfied grin on his features, and, looking a little lost, a small boy in a Jedi Padawan's garb was watching the proceedings in awe-struck silence.   
  
Standing in the crowd, Alamys Jorka never turned his eyes from the small figure on the dais, torn between wanting to wrap the boy in his arms and remaining where he was.   
  
In all of this illustre and graceful company this boy shone like a beacon, a bright light just beginning to glow, that would once burn across the entire Republic, and free it of a tyrant's yoke. Sidious may have become Supreme Chancellor, but he was not safe yet. The Jedi Order was still growing strong, and now it would be joined by this boy, his son, who would bring the light back if ever it was lost to darkness. Pride filled Alamys' heart to bursting, and it was with little regret that he thought of what he had once promised to himself. That his son would not be trained by the Jedi and corrupted by their foolish views. Perhaps they needed one such as his son was. A gentle soul, a caring heart.   
  
Wistfully, the former Jedi Master watched as a young Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi, put his hand on the boy's shoulder, a possessive gesture that roused Alamys' anger instantly. But even though he would have loved nothing more than to stalk over and slap Kenobi's hand away, he did not dare do so. No one must know who the boy was, whose legacy he carried. If Sidious found out ... But no. For as long as Alamys was alive, he would protect the boy, and continue to unravel the Sith Master's foul scheme. His battle was not done yet, and with his aid, his son would once carry the burden further, and unmask the Supreme Chancellor as what he truly was.   
  
The future was safe, he knew.   
  
And so, with a small sigh and a resigned smile on his face, Alamys Jorka turned around and started walking, slowly making his way through the crowd pressing in from all sides.   
  
He never looked back.   
TBC 


	21. Epilogue

  
  
**Epilogue**   
Ten years later, a few weeks after the battle of Geonosis   
Ducking into a side-alley Alamys Jorka was very cool. He could hear his pursuers shouting and cursing, a clear sign that they were far from professional. All the better for him. Jogging along the street, always keeping in the shadows of Alamar's blue light, he was already playing out the different options of escape. Space-worthy ships were scarce on Tyreena, and after Count Dooku's death the port of Tyra City itself would be closed down. Even an imbecile such as whoever led the security forces here was would think of that. So Alamys would have nearly no choice other than to lie low for a while. Unfortunately that would not do either. Once Sidious learned that the count was dead, he would undoubtedly have Tyreena searched with greater care and accuracy. He would find the Jedi Master. There was no doubt about that.   
  
"Halt! Who goes there?" a male voice called out, and Alamys stopped dead in his tracks to peer at the figure ahead. From the man's stance he could tell that the stranger was more afraid of him than anything else in this street.   
  
"Go about your own business," Alamys retorted good-naturedly and made to walk past the stranger. That one seemed to have been listening to the distant ruckus in the city-center, for he reached out to put a restraining hand on Alamys' shoulder. "Let go," the Jedi Master ordered softly.   
  
"What happened back there?"   
  
"The off-worlder who came to negotiate for supplies for his soldiers has been murdered, evidently," Alamys sighed.   
  
The stranger gave a low chuckle. "Evidently? Then you must know who did it."   
  
"Of course I know. It was me," he answered menacingly.   
  
"Good for you," the stranger whispered. "We do not need mercenary soldiers feeding off our crops. Not with what is happening out there."   
  
"A pacifist on Tyreena," Alamys joked. "Why am I so surprised? You folk usually keep to yourselves, as long as no one bothers you."   
  
The stranger hesitated briefly, then took his hand away at last. "You may be right about that. But not everyone thinks that way. My uncle always wrote letters home, and he made us see a lot of things more clearly."   
  
"Your uncle went off-world? Another exception then," Alamys scoffed. He did not want to linger and converse with a stranger, but something held him back.   
  
"He was a Jedi Master."   
  
It took Alamys Jorka a few moments until he managed: "A Jedi Master? How - unusual."   
  
"He vanished years ago, on Corellia," the stranger explained wistfully. "I wish I could have met him. But," he continued sternly, "we should not hang around here for too long. I'll get you out of the city, if you can trust one enlightened pacifist?"   
  
"I think I can about manage that," Alamys answered faintly. Perhaps the Force was with him after all. His cool had vanished in the matter of heart-beats, and now he let that stranger lead him through Tyra City's streets, realizing how much his home world had changed after all.   
  
"There's a freight port close to where I live," the man explained suddenly. "We see to it that you can catch a ride from there tonight. Got to check the schedules back home at the farm, though."   
  
"A good idea. I'd appreciate it."   
  
"That I'm sure of!" the farmer exclaimed and clapped a hand on Alamys' back amiably. The Jedi Master winced despite himself, but was relieved to notice that the friendly gesture would leave nothing worse than a bruise. "My name's Alvey Alnour, by the way," the man continued.   
  
"A nice name," Alamys whispered, but said no more.   
  
He could not say more, not if he wanted to endanger his - nephew? Amerie had married a man named Soreen Alnour. They had had only one child, a son, he recalled, before Soreen died in an accident. Suddenly he realised that he had not heard anything from his family in years. He had ceased writing letters one day, he remembered, and had committed himself fully to his service to the order. He had known they'd understand. They had been too proud of their famous brother not to accept it. But now, as he climbed into the back of Alvey Alnour's battered speeder, he wondered what had become of his brothers, of Amerie.   
  
"It's okay if you want to remain anonymous," Alvey said conversationally. "As long as you know that I won't tell the authorities a thing."   
  
"If you did, you'd be a dead man," Alamys breathed.   
  
"Aye, probably," his nephew mused thoughtfully.   
  
They spent the rest of the ride in silence, and Alamys shook his head in disbelief when he found that they encountered neither patrols not control-points anywhere. Definitely amateurs. But soon, soon Sidious would send someone to investigate. He winced again, this time in anticipation of what might befall Tyreena. He was leaving chaos and suffering wherever he went, it seemed. Gazing out of the speeder's window, his eyes troubled, Alamys suddenly felt something he'd not felt for years: guilt. And that feeling deepened once they had reached Alnour's farm.   
  
"Bera and the lads'll be asleep already," the farmer said softly. "But I'd ask you to be quiet nevertheless. It's been a hard day for the whole family. We have to get the seeds planted before the rains come."   
  
It was the man's so ordinary worry that reminded Alamys of what he was fighting for, in truth, of what he should have thought of back when he had made his grand plans of destroying Sidious. This wasn't about revenge, or noble ideals. It was about the future of such people as Alvey Alnour, nephew to a Jedi Master, a farmer, a pacifist. They were what mattered. Alvey bade him to sit down in the kitchen and went to brew some hot Jeha tea for both of them. Meanwhile, Alamys began to scrutinise the kitchen's interior. There was not much to see. A farmer's kitchen, practical and simple. But then he noticed the glint of gold at the door, like a yellow sun in the gloom. A shiver ran down his back when he remembered sitting in this very kitchen on his sister's lap, listening to her telling folk-tales to her younger brothers. He had been born in this house! But Amerie had moved in with her husband, when she'd married, and Parell, the Jorka's oldest son, had inherited the family farm ...   
  
Alvey, who seemed to have noticed his bewilderment, handed him a mug of tea, then sat down beside him on the bench by the oven and nodded toward the door. "When my uncle was made Jedi Master he sent a gold medallion to each of his siblings. My mother was always very proud of that. She hung it on the door personally, saying it'd protect us. When he vanished she said it should remain there, because it always reminded her of him. She sat right where you sit now, by the way," he pointed out. "Most of the days in her old age."   
  
"I take it your mother has passed away?" Alamys asked, feeling gloomy. It would have been nice to see Amerie again. She would have been in her eighties now. And Alvey Alnour, broad-shouldered and large, with his father's black hair and brown eyes, was in the middle of his fifties, by the look of him. Only a few years younger than his uncle.   
  
Alvey nodded gravely. "This past year," he said, and a thoughtful silence settled over both men as they continued to sip their tea, each remembering the same woman.   
  
Suddenly Alamys felt tears in his eyes. He wiped them away as inconspicuously as he could. To his shame he saw Alvey tactfully turn his head away. Then the farmer put his mug down beside him on the bench and rose. He walked over to the kitchen's back-door and fetched the medallion from its place. Returning with it, he held it pensively, then looked straight at Alamys. "You should have it. For luck," he explained.   
  
"I cannot accept that gift," the Jedi Master answered hoarsely, shaking his head. "It was meant to protect you and your family. What would your mother say, if you gave it to a total stranger?"   
  
"I think she would approve." Having said those words, Alvey firmly pressed the medallion into Alamys' hand, then took his mug and went to put it in the kitchen sink by the window. "I'll go and check the flight schedules," he announced, and left the room.   
  
Alone, Alamys gazed down at the gold coin sheltered in his callused palm, feeling suddenly bereft of any emotion. He had forgotten who he was. It had taken a farmer's tale of a sister's pride to remind him of that. His sister. His nephew. His family. He knew exactly what was imprinted on that medallion. Closing his eyes, he carefully curled his fingers over the gold coin and slipped it into his pocket. With a nod he rose from his seat, his body aching all over from tonight's exertion. Then, walking slowly, he made his way back into the central hall of the farm-house, where Alvey met him in the dark.   
  
"I have the schedule, and I've drawn you a map. You can reach the port in a couple of hours' walk and you'll still be in time to catch the first ride," Alvey explained quietly.   
  
"Thank you," Alamys murmured, as he took the map, then walked toward the door. He ducked through the low opening, out into the bright blue night of Tyreena. For a moment he stood just like that, gazing up at his namesake and the stars beyond. Then he turned his head to smile at Alvey. Amerie's son. No hero and no warrior, but so very brave and precious nevertheless. It was astonishing, how simple life could be, and how grand at the same time.   
  
"The harvest will be good," he said at last, and Alvey threw him a quick grin.   
  
"If you say so," he shrugged. "Guess I can rely on a Jedi Master's prediction."   
  
"You knew!" Alamys exclaimed, surprised.   
  
Alvey, a shy smile on his lips, slowly raised his hand to tap his brow. "The eyes. They still look the same. Like on the medallion."   
  
Stunned, Alamys was gazing at his nephew, trying to discern what had just happened. His eyes ... They were turning blue again. It seemed significant, somehow, and welcome too. Perhaps - perhaps not all hope was lost yet. The two men stood gazing at one another for a while, undecided, feeling that moment of kinship pass on a light spring breeze. Then Alamys turned away again and wandered out into the night, in search for destiny.   
"Supreme Chancellor, there has been another incident."   
  
The chancellor raised his eyes from the screen of his datapad absent-mindedly to look at the officer standing across from him. "Excuse me? Another incident?" he asked calmly. "Where?"   
  
"Bilbringi," the officer explained, shifting nervously on his feet. "The troops are increasingly getting out of hand."   
  
"So it would appear," Cos Palpatine mused solemnly. "The navy is on alert, I take it? And the Jedi Council, what are they proposing?"   
  
"They have lost quite a number of their Jedi Knights and Masters in the previous incidents," the man explained. "They are very keen on resolving this situation."   
  
"Ha," Palpatine rose from his seat, visibly agitated. "After they brought this upon us! A clone army!" He paused, a dreamy look in his eyes. "I confess, though, that it sounded like a good idea, in the beginning."   
  
"Our scientists confirmed the first findings, and Kamino is co-operating fully with us. They even offer an apology."   
  
"Which is of no use to us, if it does not stop this army of madmen."   
  
"Emotional instability," the soldier added carefully. "They are - "   
  
"Too much of a risk. I will have to severely reprimand the Jedi Order for their misconduct. They should not have created this army for them in the first place. One could almost believe they had foreseen this disaster," he growled.   
  
"Surely not," the officer suggested weakly. "Imagine - " he stopped, a look of terror in his eyes.   
  
"Indeed," said the chancellor, nodding his head gravely. "I believe it is time for the government to thoroughly investigate the proceedings of the Jedi Council. And I will be expecting full co-operation on the Council's part."   
  
"Yes, sir. It will be done," the officer replied, then hurriedly excused himself, almost running in his haste to get away.   
  
Taking his seat again, Darth Sidious leaned back in his chair, smiling. Oh yes. The Jedi Order had indeed known of the clone army's dangers. He would see to it that the evidence was there to be found. And then, regrettably, he would have to declare a collective ban on the Jedi Order. They would not like it. They would protest. But he did not plan on leaving them any chance at defending themselves. A few more incidents, a few more dead, no, a lot more dead, and the Jedi would be finished. Already they had lost a number of their order's members to the attacks of clones gone mad, to accidents, whatever Sidious could arrange, The most beautiful part about this scheme was that the Jedi would be blamed themselves. They would waste time trying to find out what exactly had happened, neglect their sworn duty. And then, without the order enforced by the galaxy's self-proclaimed defenders, chaos would envelop the Republic, and force its Supreme Chancellor to take even more drastic measures. Very drastic measures indeed. Of course, a few might suspect what he was truly planning, such as Bail Organa of Alderaan. But the viceroy would be careful to move without any allies to back him up. Still, that trouble was in the future. And for now, there was nothing to stand in Sidious' path any longer.   
  
Aside from a certain young Jedi Knight, that was. Anakin Skywalker had grown into a worthy heir of his father's legacy, and Sidious was also aware of Alamys Jorka's continued efforts at sabotaging the Sith Master's scheme. In fact, the father was doing whatever he could to aid his son's investigations concerning the Supreme Chancellor's ambitions. Alas, young Skywalker was drawing the Jedi Council's ire onto himself, and he was getting increasingly frustrated with their lack of trust in his investigations. It would be a relative easy feat to kindle the young man's disappointment in his superiors even more, including his former mentor, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. To ensnare Skywalker in a particularly deadly game was the next step the Sith Master planned on taking. He only needed a few more months to put everything in place. And then, at last, the Sith would rule once more.   
Alamys Jorka was walking past the number three customs booth when he noticed a flash of pink from the dim depth of the small room, and a young female voice that was talking insistently to Bray La, the customs officer on duty today. Alamys knew him, just as he knew all other customs officials on Weyla. With a smile, he stuck his head through the open doorway and nodded at the Falleen in acknowledgement. The customer, he saw, was a human girl of perhaps sixteen, with a mane of unruly blonde curls and blue eyes that were flashing angrily. She had a gawky figure and would grow a bit taller than she was even now. Dressed in a pink jump-suit, she looked definitely out of place.   
  
"Alamys, why don't you tell the lady that she should really take my advice and leave again?" Bray La asked, his tone one of exasperation.   
  
"She'd make a nice collector's item," the former Jedi Master mused aloud, and the flash of fear that crossed her eyes was all he needed to know that she was fully aware of just where she had come to. But then anger replaced the fear, and she rounded on him, hands propped on her hips challengingly.   
  
"Perhaps you have your own business to attend to?" she snarled.   
  
But Alamys ignored her. Addressing the customs officer he asked. "The ship she came on, is that still here?"   
  
"She sent it away."   
  
"Interesting." Now he had no choice but to talk to her directly, it would seem. "Listen, young lady, this is no place for you to be," he tried. "It is dangerous for a girl like you to just waltz into a krayt dragon's den and expect to walk out unharmed and alive."   
  
She looked him up and down quite pointedly, then tried a smile that would have melted any other man's resolve to send her away again. She definitely had some skills. But Alamys was unimpressed, even though he let her say her thing anyway. "How do you want to know that I don't know my way around ports like these?" she asked sweetly.   
  
"No one who comes to Weyla sends their ship away, not even people who've lived here for years," the former Jedi countered coolly. "That's because no one wants to stay here. If you had the experience you claim to have you'd do the same. But you've sent your ship away. Because you want to force yourself to stay. In short, you've run away. By your accent you're from the Core, perhaps even Coruscant. Your clothes are expensive and I guess your parents are well to do. Perhaps you were bored? Well, it certainly won't get boring here."   
  
For a moment she looked uncertain, but then she stuck her chin out again. "And what if you were right? I am here because I chose to be here. I am not stupid and I am not helpless."   
  
"Really. What's your name?"   
  
"Meli Lars."   
  
Alamys cocked his head to the side and smiled. "That's a lie. But if you want to keep your real name secret so I cannot track your background, you're welcome to do so, Meli Lars."   
  
She blushed ever so slightly, then frowned. "Are you a Jedi or something?"   
  
"Or something," Alamys replied lightly, then turned away to nod at Bray La. "I'll take care of this, officer," he announced.   
  
The Falleen shrugged. "Better you than anyone else. I'd hate seeing the kid get hurt."   
  
"I'm not a kid!" the girl exclaimed. But Alamys had already wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and was firmly steering her toward the exit. "Let go," she hissed at him, but did not try to twist out of his grasp. So, she was not stupid, that one.   
  
"As long as I am with you no one will try to pick you up," he told her quietly. "We'll go somewhere where we can talk, so you can tell me what you really want here."   
  
"Is that armor you are wearing?" she asked, squinting at his attire as if seeing it for the first time.   
  
"Yes. Especially light and padded." No need to tell her that the armour was necessary to prevent him from breaking all of his bones if he accidentally tripped on the street. "It helps."   
  
"I bet it does," she huffed, then gave him another queer glance. "A neat scar you have there. What's your name?"   
  
"Alamys. Yours?" He gave her a tiny smirk that made her blush again. Despite her demeanour she was still very young, he found.   
  
"Yana," she pressed out at last, and it was as if a barrier had been broken.   
  
"Yana," he repeated, smiling. "A pretty name."   
  
He thought of Sidious' daughter, that he had almost killed all those years back. She would be the same age as ... His mind gushed with icy shock, Alamys did not dare look at the girl at his side at first. But then everything slid into place, crushing him underneath a mountain of revelation. Sidious had proclaimed himself Emperor a few weeks ago, had he not? Six years after the ban on the Jedi Order had been announced. Alamys remembered Almanda Dar, Yana's mother. He remembered killing her too, and sparing her daughter's life. The daughter who had run away from her father now that he had reached his ultimate goal. Was she trying to punish him, perhaps? It certainly was an interesting prospect.   
  
"You think so?" the girl asked, sounding uncertain. She was preoccupied with something, and Alamys could well guess what that was.   
  
Her reasons for running away could be manifold, but there was one thing they all would have in common: Yana was smart enough to realise that what her father was doing was wrong. With new-found respect the former Jedi Master looked at her, and his smile widened. Years ago her parentage had almost doomed her, but not today. "It is a very pretty name, Yana Dar. Truly fitting for such a clever young woman."   
  
"You know!" she breathed, turning huge blue eyes on him just as she twisted out of his grasp. "How?" she demanded, and suddenly her temper flared again. "How!"   
  
Alamys sputtered over the answer. "I - I knew your father," he managed, and was left only a split-second to push Yana aside as a blaster bolt tore toward them. "Get some cover!" he yelled, but she had already scrambled away from him.   
  
Alamys shrugged off his worry for her as he made a grab for his lightsaber. He could sense her somewhere behind him, shaking, torn between fear and betrayal. He squinted at the buildings surrounding them, realising only belatedly that he had led them into the perfect trap. A movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye, but just as he whirled around to deflect the next shot, his white blade coming to roaring life, someone laid down cover fire to allow him to get into safety too. Somewhat surprised, he joined Yana at a street corner.   
  
"Thanks," he said.   
  
She shrugged. "No problem. I told you I was not entirely novice to this sort of port. I've been around," she added, waving a blaster in her right hand.   
  
"I bet. Come. We need to get away from here." Together they hurried down the street, but he could sense that something was bothering her. "You thought I had betrayed you?" he asked quietly.   
  
"When you pushed me away - " She hesitated. "When you pushed me away and I saw your lightsaber I knew you are a fugitive just like me. My father is looking for me," she added, "and I should have prepared for that too."   
  
Alamys refrained from telling her just how he knew her father and that those shots had probably been aimed at him, not her. So he only nodded in understanding. "Well, he's looking for me too. That's one thing we've got in common, then," he joked.   
  
Yana gave him a crooked smile. "Probably."   
  
But Alamys was very serious when he replied. "We should split up. Go back to Bray La, the Falleen customs officer where I picked you up. Hurry. Tell him he's to help you and that I said so."   
  
"You're going to face them alone?" she asked, incredulous. "For me?"   
  
"An honour," the former Jedi Master told her and gave a slight bow. For a long moment they looked at one another, and both were smiling. "May the Force be with you," he said.   
  
Yana nodded mutely, then turned away, without another word. He watched her vanish around the next corner, before he turned back to face his hunters. Perhaps the seed of light had been planted elsewhere too, he mused. Perhaps Yana Dar would once challenge her father and destroy him. Who knew? Laughing, Alamys Jorka prepared to fight his last battle.   
There is no emotion - There is peace. There is no ignorance - There is knowledge. There is no passion - There is serenity. There is no death - There is the Force.   
  
Alamys Jorka repeated those words relentlessly to himself, but they remained meaningless, where they had meant everything to him so long ago. He felt that he was slipping again, that he was losing control. With a soft moan he rolled around to lie on his stomach, his bound hands placed underneath his breast-bone. It took a supreme effort to draw his knees up, he had to be careful not to break his own legs. A feat he had managed more than once over the past years. The memory was not a fond one. Gently, oh so gently, he sat up and even more gently leaned his back against the cool bulk-head. For a moment he tried not to think of anything. But inside that serene shell of oblivion a roaring fire was fighting to break out, a darkness so powerful it was searing his insides and smouldering his heart.   
  
It could not harm anyone now, not anymore, and that fact had brought him here, aboard this ship, found and captured by Darth Sidious' minions at last. They had taken away his armour and his lightsaber, of course. Alamys knew that he would not survive the upcoming encounter with the Sith Lord, but he did not care anymore. Somewhere, deep in his mind, he knew that he had no reason to fear any longer. With a wistful smile he tried to gather an image of his son, a fleeting image that kept slipping away, but he could still feel the fondness that had made him walk away then, on Naboo, to protect the child. It had not hurt to leave, not at all. He had had to do it, for the sake of giving his sacrifice meaning, and his son a chance to survive. Anakin had survived, had become a hero of the Clone Wars, even. A Jedi, like his father. Thinking of Anakin brought focus into his thoughts, and clarity to his mind. For a moment Alamys wondered what Shmi might have told her son, how she had tried to explain what had happened to her. She would not have remembered, of course.   
  
A noise at the door caught his attention, and he could just faintly make out voices on the other side of it. "Is he still asleep?" a man asked.   
  
"No, he seems to be awake," a female answered. "How much longer?"   
  
"Not long now. Two hours at the latest."   
  
"Good. That guy is giving me the creeps, don't ask me how," the woman growled.   
  
So, two hours until he would meet his executioner. He should have killed Sidious back on Malika, no matter the cost to himself. But, alas, that revelation came far too late. In hindsight everything was always so obvious, wasn't it? Alamys smiled coldly. Politics had not interested him over the past decades, he had been troubled enough with staying alive and pursuing his revenge. But Sidious' rise to Emperor had been hard to overlook. The Jedi Master set his jaw grimly. And the Jedi were dying. He knew exactly that this had been foretold in the prophecies, the demise of the Jedi, the decline of the light. But he had taken precautions, had he not? Anakin was more powerful than any Jedi or Sith alive, his power a combination of his own innate talent and that of his father. Giving up the Force had not been as hard as he had anticipated it, when confronted with what the future would hold for the galaxy, Alamys mused.   
  
Anakin would survive, he knew with certainty. It could not be any other way. Exhaling slowly he let go of his anxiety. No need to worry. If Anakin had retained only half of the kindness and maturity he had shown on Naboo he would manage to deal with the darkness, would manage to find his way. He would recover the light, no matter how long it would take. Smiling, the Jedi Master closed his eyes. His confidence in his son was unbroken.   
  
Content, Alamys settled back to sleep another two hours.   
He had not planned to stay on Byss that long, but shortly before his intended departure a message had reached him, and he had stayed after all. So, Alamys Jorka had finally come to the end of his journey. He had been captured on Weyla, of all places, and apparently he had not put up much of a fight. Good. The ship carrying the former Jedi Master would arrive in another hour, time enough for Sidious to ponder what exactly to do with him. He thought of the other ruined warrior hidden deep down in the medical ward of the citadel, injured and despairing, almost ripe for the taking. A cruel smile came to the Sith Master's lips. Anakin Skywalker would share his father's fate once, but not just now. For a moment he considered arranging a meeting between father and son, just to see their reaction, but then decided against it. It was too risky, especially now that Skywalker was still hopeful, still defiant. There was no telling how he would respond, no telling at all.   
  
Fortunately Alamys Jorka's reaction to both his capture and his impending death was foreseeable. In undeniable glee Sidious rubbed his hands, and laughed to himself. This was so grand! His old nemesis at last back in his grasp, his new foe under control, and soon to be not enemy but servant. Father and son, both his. Now he truly was master of all Sith, with Roj Kell safely confined to Korriban, Anakin Skywalker imprisoned here on Byss, and Alamys Jorka about to meet his end. Yes. Alamys was Sith, though he would deny it vehemently. Yet he had betrayed the Jedi years ago, had embraced the darkness fully. And Sidious would tell him to the face, would tell him exactly how he had failed. Darth Sidious' smile faded again, to be replaced by a cold, calculating expression. Soon now, there would only be two true Sith left, a master and an apprentice.   
  
An hour later the two bounty-hunters who had made the catch announced their arrival at the Citadel, and Sidious moved toward the throne-room to receive them and their captive. The throne-room was an exact replica of the one he had had built in the Imperial Palace on Coruscant, with black marble tiles covering the floor and sheer black walls rising high toward the ceiling. A single giant viewport opened the view into the blood-red sky of Byss behind the throne itself, which stood on a pedestal two meters above the floor, accessible only over a wide set of stairs. Those stairs Sidious climbed regally, before he settled down on the throne at last. Nodding at the two red-robed guards standing watch at the entrance, he waited for his visitors to arrive. When the three of them entered, though, he only had eyes for the Jedi Master.   
  
Alamys Jorka was dressed in plain civilian clothes. A dust-covered black jacket, wide, dark grey pants and a long-worn belt of brown leather. Black, knee-high boots completed his attire. Time had not been gentle with him, and his dark blond hair had thinned and grayed considerably. But he stood between his captors displaying a defiant, calm pride that irked the Sith Master no end. One of the bounty-hunters, a woman, handed something to one of the guards, who in turn came up to kneel before the Emperor, holding the handful out to him. A Jedi medallion, a few more trinkets and a credit chip. Sidious took the medallion, then impatiently waved the bounty-hunters and guards away. Finally, once he and the former Jedi Master were alone, he rose from his seat and walked toward his old enemy, smiling. Alamys Jorka frowned at him darkly, and his right hand dropped to his belt instinctively, searching for the lightsaber handle that would usually hang there, but he only caught air.   
  
Suppressing a smile, Sidious flung out a hand to throw the Jedi to the floor hard. He could hear bones crack from where he stood. For a moment Alamys lay paralysed, but then he struggled to his feet again, his mind aflame with agony and hatred, his face fixed in an inhuman snarl.   
  
"Finally we meet again," Darth Sidious said, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "It has been a long time, my friend. But at last you have come."   
  
"Don't think I will beg for mercy, Sidious," Alamys Jorka spat, his baritone voice laced thickly with contempt and obvious strain. But then his scarred face twisted into a mocking smile. "Now that you have captured the last of my kind, will you triumph at last? Will you show your true face to the galaxy?"   
  
Sidious shook his head. "Alamys. The last of your kind? You? Not at all. But I have been waiting a long time to have you in my grasp again. You have kept yourself hidden from me long enough."   
  
A flash of pain crossed Jorka's face. "Whatever advantage you had hoped to gain by capturing me, you are too late," he answered thickly.   
  
"Really? Whatever makes you think so?"   
  
Now Jorka's expression was positively triumphant. "And in the time of greatest despair there shall come a saviour, and he shall be known as the Son of the Suns," he quoted slowly, deliberately. "Sounds familiar?" He was smiling, a smile at the very verge of madness.   
  
Amidst low chuckles of genuine amusement, Darth Sidious started clapping his hands in mock applause. "Well done," he said at last. "If you want to play a game of prophecy, why not name this one? 'The most potent instrument of balance undoubtedly is a fusion of light and dark, of dark within light and light within darkness. The dark side of the sun, and the bright, merged in a glorious fire of power.' You obviously had no time to study the Jen'da Prophecies, Alamys," he added, sounding almost sad.   
  
The Jedi Master's face paled. "What do you mean?"   
  
"I know, Alamys. I know where you have been hiding, and I know what you did in your despair. As it was foretold, as it was prophesied. The dark within light, Alamys Jorka, was you." Darth Sidious' voice dropped into a whisper as he continued. "And the light within darkness is mine already. He will teach your son when the time is right, and your son will become my tool, my creation. Such power, Alamys," he sighed in undeniable delight, "such delicious power as you have commanded! Oh, how I envied you!" Laughing out loud, the Emperor brought his hands together in a loud clap, earnest once more. "Enough of these games. Your time is running out. Yet I must thank you for your diligent efforts in assisting my own plans. A true friend. I will always be indebted to you. And now, Alamys, I will release you from your bonds." His voice dropped to a malicious whisper. "As a friend would do for another."   
Alamys stared at the Sith Master, speechless. His mind was filled with dread and despair, knowing full well that he would die now. He longed to fight, longed to tear that hated face to shreds, but knew perfectly well that he stood no chance at all against the Sith. Not anymore. But hope was still with him. Anakin was alive, Anakin would triumph where he had failed.   
  
But then Sidious cocked his head to the side, a questioning frown marring his forehead. "Do I sense a glimmer of hope here? I wonder what could have sparked that now of all times."   
  
"The future," Alamys answered, his voice rough. But he managed to stop shaking.   
  
The Emperor smiled. "The future? Let me tell you about the future, my friend. I will rule. I will command the power of my Empire, and I will finish the Jedi's destruction. Your son has been of great help to me already, and he will be happy to continue serving me further, I assure you."   
  
Alamys paled, and suddenly he felt dizzy, almost fell, his knees weak as jelly. "My - son?"   
  
"Oh yes," Sidious replied lightly. "He suspected my plans, or should I say, you pointed him my way?" he asked, a horrible smile on his weathered face. Alamys' eyes widened as he realised that Sidious had known, had always known whose legacy Anakin Skywalker had been meant to carry. "He challenged me to a game, just as you once did," the Sith Master continued softly, obviously enjoying this. "His Jedi friends did not believe him, of course, so he had to fight alone. Never a good position, as you should know from first-hand experience, old friend. In the end he thought himself betrayed even by his beloved wife. The path he chose three years ago on Tatooine then became his forever. The path to the Dark Side. Of course, you never treated this as a game. He did."   
  
"No!" Alamys dropped to the floor, oblivious to the pain. It could not be true! Not Anakin!   
  
"But yes. You made a mistake, Alamys, when you left him to grow up with his mother. He grew too attached to her, and when she was murdered, he felt the lure of darkness for the first time, and gave in to it. Just as you did, years ago." Sidious walked closer, cupping the kneeling Jedi's chin in one hand and bent down to meet his clear blue eyes. Alamys did not resist. "You should have killed me on Malika."   
  
"I know." Alamys found his emotions rapidly dying along with hope. Shmi was dead? He had never known ...   
  
"You should have destroyed the virus."   
  
The Jedi Master nodded very gently. "Yes," he breathed. "I should have." Tears brimmed his eyes, but he did not feel anything. No fury, no hatred, no sorrow. Nothing. He was dead, in more ways than one.   
  
"But you failed," Sidious finished in a tender whisper. His hand slid up the Jedi Master's left cheek, then closed over his forehead. "The price for failure is death, always was. You know that as well as I do."   
  
Alamys could not answer. He had no chance, no way to shield himself against the power that began to shred his mind into pieces, working through his neural centres, through his brain, shutting down his vital functions, killing him bit by bit. Gasping for air, he felt the tears fall at last. When his lungs ceased to function Sidious released him, leaving him just a tiny snippet of awareness to allow him to witness his own death. Alamys' body hit the floor hard, the impact breaking his right arm and shoulder, and snapping his collarbone. He felt the jolt of pain most acutely, but his eyes lost their sight gradually, sparing him the image of Sidious' gloating expression. He had failed. He had delivered his son into the hands of the enemy. He had given the Sith the ultimate weapon, the ultimate tool to ensure his rule.   
  
Anakin.   
  
In that he had failed his son, most of all. The tears leaking from his eyes ran down his numbing cheeks in a river of cold mourning. But still the Jedi Master clung to the image of the small, earnest face he remembered from Naboo, like a bright sun, his son's kind blue eyes, so unlike his father's, his innocent smile. And that face was drowning in darkness.   
  
It was in that moment of utter weakness and despair that he recalled Hagen Dycos' words concerning the balance of the Force, that the Force was a reflection of all, and all was a reflection of the Force. He felt like that now, as he was floating into oblivion, on a sea of darkness, just like his son. A tiny speck of light, filled with darkness, submerged in darkness, drifting toward a distant light. He stared at that pinpoint of glaring brightness, uncomprehending at first. Only gradually did the revelation come, the conclusion to Hagen Dycos' unfinished thoughts, and it made him smile inside. There was no balance of light and dark, if one was the reflection of the other. There was no balance that could be broken.   
  
There was the Force. And only that.   
The End   
PS: Thanks to all my readers, especially The Sh33p! This tale continues in The Art of War - Rewritten and The Storm. 


End file.
